Minnows of Avalon
by lamentomori
Summary: Punk's health returns as Dean struggles to keep their needs met. Slowly they shift from being part of the homeless to part of the scurriers, and Punk & Dean realise that the emotional pains of scurrying can be worse than the physical ones of homelessness. Warnings: Slash (various), AU, Homelessness, Profanity, Smut, Direct follow on from Xmas Carols chapter 9: Carol of the Bells.
1. 01

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

He'd been sick for a while, and though Punk had been putting a brave face on it for his lover, he'd known this illness wasn't one he'd recover from, not on his own at least. The doctor at the free clinic had assured them on more than once that it was just a cold, something that could be cleared up with time, and antibiotics. Dean had always been sceptical, Punk had been too, but unlike Dean, he'd kept his thoughts to himself. It was chance, or maybe Dean's obsessive need to keep Punk around that had led to them going back to the clinic for another visit. It had been surprisingly deserted, the usual doctor not there as it's Christmas, and he's undoubtedly comfortably in his home, eating, drinking, and making merry. Three things that aren't options for Punk and Dean. Three things that are denied to them more often than not due to their situation.

Being homeless isn't something he's happy about, but there's not much Punk can do about it. He has no skills beyond what the streets have taught him, no options beyond the ones presented by those same streets. Some unknown to him time ago, _something_ happened to Punk leaving him with a scar on his forehead, and a vast blank space where his life from before the scar should be. He'd been on the streets a good long time before Dean had crossed his path, and like every other person he'd encountered, Punk had expected Dean to fade into the white noise of his damaged brain. Only Dean refused to be engulfed by the static. Dean had been determined to make himself a part of Punk's existence. From almost the day they met, Dean has been saving Punk's life, and now by forcing him to this clinic, he saved it quite literally once more. Only this time something else has come with this salvation, and Punk has no idea what to do about it.

"What was it?" Dean looks worried as Punk almost stumbles out of the doctor's office. It's a far bigger question than Dean realises, and Punk shakes his head. Dean's arm is around his shoulders, and they're leaving the clinic, emerging onto the street before Punk can even think to ask for a cup of coffee from the woman behind the desk. A free cup of coffee had been his entire motivation for coming to the clinic in the first place. It's too late to turn back now though, and Punk keeps moving forward.

"He knew me... Knew me before the accident." He murmurs, rubbing at his face tiredly. Dean looks over at Punk, his eyes wide. "He knows alls about me. He could tell me everything, Dean, _everything_." Punk smiles awkwardly, he can feel how strained the expression must look, because he feels strained. The doctor _knew_ him. No one has ever _known_ him before. Dean looks genuinely surprised for a few moments, then his eyes narrow.

"Did he _want_ anything?" The possessive edge to Dean's voice drags a smile to Punk's lips, and he shakes his head. The doctor didn't _seem_ to want anything, but Punk isn't a good reader of people. He's lost the ability to understand certain social cues that children learn to pick up on. It's easy to lie to Punk, easy to betray him, so he doesn't let people close to spare himself pain that can be easily avoided. Dean has never lied to Punk, has never betrayed him, and at this stage in their relationship Punk is certain that Dean never will. There's a bond between them, an understanding that the brutality of betrayal is one that they'll spare each other by being faithful, and honest with one another.

"He... He gave me money, insisted I take it, get somewhere to stay for a few days to give me a chance to heal." Punk's hand is in his pocket, and he leads Dean over to a doorway, showing him the roll of hundreds in his pocket.

" _Fuck..._ " Dean breathes out slowly, and Punk nods, pocketing the cash once more. The money he showed Dean isn't all of the notes the doctor gave him. The rest of the cash is hidden in a little pocket in one of the many sweaters Punk wears to try to keep the biting wind at bay. He'll reveal the truth of the amount of money later, once they're somewhere more secure than a blustery street corner.

"If we get somewhere cheap, a motel or something, it'll last a while, right?" Dean nods in response to Punk's question. The doctor had been adamant that Punk stay somewhere warm, and dry for a few nights at least, and Punk's inclined to agree with the advice offered by the doctor.

"Yeah... I know just the place." Dean presses a kiss to the scar on Punk's forehead. Punk's never been entirely sure why Dean always places kisses there. He can't feel them, not really, only the ghost of the sensation, but Dean is always careful to kiss that particular spot, his lips always brushing over it almost reverently. It's almost as though he's silently thankful that scar exists because it's proof that Punk is still alive.

"Lead the way then." Punk mutters, falling into step with Dean once more. His arm is wrapped tightly around Punk's waist as they make their way to some nearby motel. Their progress is slow, because despite feeling better than he has in months, Punk's still tired, even more tired than he was before the trip to the clinic. He'd like nothing more than to collapse to the ground and sleep, but Dean's arm is keeping him upright, and the money in his pockets is keeping him walking. It's more money than he's ever held, more money than he's ever seen, and it's all his, given to him by the doctor who _knew_ him.

For all he's thought about it, for all he's wanted to meet someone who knew him before the accident, he'd never really expected to find a person who'd known _Phil_. Now that he has, he's no idea what to think, or to do. It'd be so very easy to let this all go, so very easy to let this be forgotten, but he has the terrible feeling that Dr Colton won't be forgotten easily, if only because Punk has his name, address, and telephone number on a scrap of paper in his pocket, nothing sticks in his mind quite like written information. Once something is written down it refuses to sink into the static of Punk's mind.

"Gimme some of that money, and I'll get us a room." Dean props Punk up against a wall, and Punk blinks at him slowly. He's not sure he has the energy to even stay leaning against the wall, his knees feel weak, his mind hazy, leaning seems like a task far beyond him in that moment. "Punk, baby..." Dean's hand cups his cheek, and Punk pulls some money off the roll of hundreds the doctor had given him. It's so much money, that doctor and Phil must have been close for him to hand Punk over so much cash. "I'll get us a room for as long as I can. You just stay here, alright?" Dean presses a quick kiss to Punk's forehead, and vanishes inside the little office.

 _What happened to you Phil?_

Punk closes his eyes, the doctor's voice echoing in his mind. He'd been so worried, had sounded so genuinely concerned, and Punk can't process it. He's no idea what to do in this situation. He supposes he could talk to Dean, but what he'd say Punk has no idea. Dean would try to understand, but he'd fail. No matter how much Dean tries, he never quite comprehends what it's like to be Punk. They both have so very little, but Dean has something that Punk doesn't. Dean has his past, for better or worse, Dean knows where he came from. Every horror, every tragedy, every slight, every pain, Dean has locked away in his mind, but all Punk has is a blank space. A few snatched memories from the hospital, and some fuzzy feelings from before. He doesn't have memories from his time as Phil, but sometimes he'll _feel_ something like the ghost of one. He'll be somewhere and a feeling almost like déjà vu will come over him, the barest hint of a feeling that where he is, or what he's doing is familiar.

"Hey? You okay?" Dean's hand is under his chin, tipping his face up, and Punk forces a slight smile to his lips.

"I'm just tired." He mutters, and Dean nods, pulling him close, squeezing him lightly.

"C'mon then. Let's get you to bed." Dean starts walking slowly once more, his arm tight around Punk. He enjoys being pressed against Dean far more than he perhaps should, but Dean's the only real human contact Punk's ever had. Dean is the only person Punk has found himself compelled to. Whilst he's plenty fond of other people, Dean is the only person Punk has wanted to touch him, the only person he'd wanted to stay with him, the only person he'd wanted to _remember_. Other people are hazy collections of features, vague shapes not important enough to put the effort in that Punk needs to to remember things, but Dean is worth that effort, he's worth that and so much more.

The motel room is small, dimly lit with a single bulb hidden in a grimly shade, but the bed looks surprisingly clean and comfortable, which is the _only_ thing Punk cares about. He feels _weak_ , like every ounce of strength has been drained from him along with the pus in that infection. The words the doctor had said to him keep echoing in his mind. Quiet words of recognition, quiet words of hope that'd changed to resignation so quickly when Punk had told him the truth. The doctor had been so insistent, had literally forced Punk to take the money, his phone number, his address. The money Punk has no doubts he and Dean will make use of, the number and address are burning a hole in his pocket, and despite thinking of them so much, he's still no idea what he'll do with them.

 _If you have any questions about who you were, come and see me. Call me first though, make sure I'm home_ , _okay?_

Punk has questions, _so_ many questions, but he's not sure he wants the answers. Who he was has always plagued him, and knowing would lay those thoughts to rest, but they might conjure up new thoughts, new problems. _Phil_ hadn't been loved by anyone enough for them to look for him. There'd been no one there, no one to stop Punk from leaving the hospital, and ending up on the streets. Going back to being _Phil_ isn't something Punk wants to do. Punk's loved, he's adored, and in turn he loves, and adores. Dean's more than Punk's lover, he's Punk's reason to keep going. If it wasn't for Dean, he'd have curled up and let the infection take him _long_ ago, but because of Dean, he'd kept fighting as much as he could. In forcing him to go to the clinic again, Dean saved his life. In truth Punk's lost count of how many times Dean's saved him, more than Dean will ever realise of that Punk's certain.

"Hey... C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." Dean's voice startles him far more than he'd like to admit, and he glances up at his lover. "Punk... You okay?"

"Tired." Punk yawns, and Dean smiles softly, his hand cupping Punk's cheek.

"Yeah... I know, but we've got a _clean_ bed to sleep in tonight." Dean's smile _always_ fills Punk with warmth. It's the kind of smile that should have been beaten out of him by his life, but it's still there, clinging with a determination matched solely by Dean's own. "Don't want to be making it all dirty on the first night."

"You sure about that?" The smirking leer Punk tries for clearly fails when all Dean does is level him with an unimpressed gaze. "I can't get my back wet." Punk yawns again, and Dean nods vaguely, guiding him to the little bathroom.

"Sponge bath?" Dean chuckles, filling the sink with warm water, and tossing a washcloth into it. "Sit down, you look like you're gonna fall over." Punk sits heavily on the toilet lid, and watches Dean start to strip. Life on the streets has left its mark on Dean's skin, scars and odd imperfections litter his pale skin, but beneath that damaged skin there's sleek, lean muscle. A naked Dean is something that even now, years after he first saw it, still captures Punk's attention. Usually at least, not tonight though. Tonight he's too tired, he's too sore, and all he wants is to curl up and sleep. "Get cleaned up, I'll take a shower."

"No fair." Punk mutters, yawning once more. There's a strange lethargy in him, a kind of bone deep weariness that makes him want to curl up and fall asleep, but Dean's right. For their first night in what is their bed for a little while at least they should be clean.

"Too bad, Punk. You said yourself that you can't get your back wet." Dean smirks, and comes closer to him, his hand resting on the top of Punk's head. "Get undressed, and I'll clean you up first." Punk blinks stupidly at him, and manages a slight nod. "Do you need to take that medication tonight?"

"Yeah... First dose I should probably take soon as possible." His words are barely out before he yawns once more, his eyes drifting closed. Now that he's sitting, and warm, sleep seems so very attainable.

"Hey, hey. No sleeping on the toilet." The next thing Punk's aware of is Dean crouching in front of him, a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Take this." He pops the little pill into Punk's mouth, and then holds the glass to his lips, letting him drink. "C'mon, clothes off." Dean's fingers start working at pulling the layers of clothes off of Punk's body. Whilst he tries to help, it really seems more like Punk's hindering the process. It feels like that along with the infected pus, the doctor squeezed out Punk's coordination, his fingers feel thick and useless. In the end, Dean bats his hands out of the way, and strips Punk himself, the job made much easier with Punk not _helping_.

The process of getting clean isn't one Punk really remembers, he's lying tucked up in bed in what feels like no time, with only the sounds of Dean showering filling the little motel room. The little slip of paper the doctor gave him is sitting on the nightstand by the bed, the looping script clearly visible despite the darkness of the room.

 _I'm sorry, Phil. I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do, anything you need... Anything at all, call me, okay? Please... Just call me._

He'd looked so worried, so earnest as he'd said those words to him. This doctor cares, at least he seemed to when faced with how far the person he knew as Phil had fallen. There's so much of Punk that wants to crumple that little slip of paper up, and throw it away. The past, _his_ past is something best forgotten, something best left to the annals of history. Phil wasn't a good person; if he had been, he wouldn't have been alone in that hospital. If Phil had been a good person, there would have been people there for him. If Phil had been a good person, there wouldn't be Punk, but if there weren't Punk, he wouldn't be in this motel room. If Phil had been a good person, Punk wouldn't have Dean. He's not going to gain anything from learning who Phil was, at least Punk doesn't think he will, but there's so much he could lose, and he's not certain he could take losing anything else.

"You gonna call him?" Dean's voice drags Punk from his thoughts. He slips into bed behind Punk; one hand comes to rest on Punk's hip, stroking the skin there lightly.

"I dunno." Punk mutters, turning to lie on his other side, facing Dean.

"Hmm..." Dean's hand moves up to stroke a finger over Punk's eyebrow, gently brushing over the scar on his forehead. "I think you will." He says plainly, and Punk shrugs awkwardly.

"I might, I dunno." Punk moves a little closer to Dean, pressing his face against Dean's shoulder. "I don't know if I want to know what he can tell me."

"You do, but you're scared, Punk." Dean's arm slips under Punk, pulling him closer. "Your pages could be filled in for you. You could have your whole story, don't you want that?"

"I think you want it more than me to be honest." Punk mumbles, and Dean laughs.

"Maybe... You're a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, topped off with a mysterious bow." He kisses Punk's hair, and makes a quietly contented noise. "But I want you to know for yourself more than I want to know for me." He says softly, and Punk sighs, nodding against Dean's chest. "It's important to you, so it's important to me, and you know no matter what he tells you, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere, Punk."

"I know." Punk murmurs, kissing Dean's chest lightly. "I'll think about it." Another yawn comes over him, and Dean laughs, the noise a slight rumble under Punk's ear.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll go start looking for some work. I want to keep this place till you're better, and I don't know how long that money's gonna last." A worried tone creeps into Dean's voice, and Punk closes his eyes, loses himself in the feeling of Dean's love. "I was scared I was going to lose you." He admits quietly, and Punk winces. He'd been scared too, but not of dying, he'd almost resigned himself to the inevitability of whatever had been wrong killing him. What Punk had been scared of was leaving Dean alone. There'd been a fearful part of him that had been convinced that Dean would try to follow him into death. Life is something that Dean puts a lot of thought into, something he ponders over endlessly. They've had many long rambling conversations about how Dean feels about the world around them, about the people they see, about his _scurriers_ , but they rarely talk about death. Punk doesn't think Dean's afraid of dying, not really at least, rather Punk thinks Dean avoids thinking about it, because it's inevitable. There's nothing to be gained from dying, the only gains that you can make are in living. Dean's made it very clear, over and over again, that without Punk he'd have very little to keep going on for. Punk's a mystery, and Dean loves mysteries. He loves to think things over, loves to puzzle out answers, and Punk is a riddle with no easy solution. Punk doesn't know the answers to Dean's questions, so there's no way to solve him. If Punk had died, Dean would have lost his great conundrum, and Punk had worried that without that Dean would have sought death too.

"I'm right here." Punk yawns. He doesn't have a real answer or response to Dean's comment. He's not going anywhere, that doctor saved his life. The infection's been removed, and the new course of medication will fix him up. He'll be fine, he'll live, but there's something else the doctor can do for Dean along with saving Punk's life. That doctor can solve the riddle of who Punk is, the only problem is Punk isn't sure he wants an answer to that riddle. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean sounds awake, his voice soft but alert. Punk almost wants to reassure him that he's fine, but he can tell that this'll be a night where Dean barely sleeps for fear of something taking Punk from him. There've been many nights where Dean's forgone sleep in favour of holding vigil over Punk against the infection, and even though it's been treated, old habits die-hard, no amount of reassurance will bring sleep to Dean easily tonight.

"If I go... If I find out who I was, will you still stay with me?" Punk squeezes his eyes closed tighter, and buries himself closer to Dean. It feels like a stupid question, and the quiet laugh Dean gives makes Punk feel like a fool for asking.

"I love you, you idiot. I'm not going anywhere." Dean kisses the top of Punk's head, and Punk fidgets slightly. It's easy to say that. It's easy to be convinced of something that you can't begin to fathom. The truth of who Phil was might be terrible. He might have been nothing more than a monster, and that's why he was abandoned, but Punk can't bring himself to argue not right now, not when he's so tired. "Go to sleep. I'm not going anywhere." Dean repeats his words, and Punk nods, settling into sleep. As good as it is to hear _I love you_ , that's not the phrase Punk needs to hear most of the time. Being loved is wonderful, he won't deny that, but for him _I'm not going anywhere_ is more important. For Punk being alone was a necessity, but not one he'd ever enjoyed. Waking up in that hospital alone had been terrifying, leaving it so easily had been brutally painful. He'd left knowing no one was there for him, he'd left knowing nothing of who he was, nothing of how the world worked, _nothing_ at all. He'd been alone, brutally alone, and horribly vulnerable. He'd been afraid, so afraid for so long, but then he'd met Dean. Dean who'd hung around even when he didn't have to. Dean who'd been impossible to shake off. Dean who'd stayed. Dean who wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

 _I don't know that I'm back writing regularly, but I do know that this, and a few other ideas are very lodged in my brain. I don't know if there's any interest in me continuing this, so if you would like more **reviews** would be deeply **appreciated**. I'm not sure about this at all, so if you review please be as honest as you can. _


	2. 02

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

Scurriers are strange creatures. The subdivisions they fall into at times confound Dean. He's observed so many odd little factions of them. Capitalists, socialists, philosophers, scientists, sheep, all different factions of the great scurrying masses. Some factions recruit from the white whales, and the ones that do puzzle him the most. The biggest crossover faction by far is the religionists.

Religion isn't a concept Dean has ever gotten behind. In all of his contemplations on the conundrum of life, he's never found a spot for a _creator_. If there is a God, it's a merciless deity, one that offers no reward to its devotees. Religious people, be they scurriers, white whales, or homeless are mysteries to Dean. Faith, _belief_ is something so powerful, but given away so cheaply. The lives of those who are religious are lives led by cowards. Lives spent trusting in some invisible force, lives spent being unable to face up to the realities of the fact they are ultimately responsible for their own actions, the fact that life isn't fair, there's no Final Judgement, good people aren't always rewarded, and the wicked don't always face justice. People live one life, then they die. No gods, no heroes. That's the way of the world Dean lives in. He doesn't have time to place his faith in imaginary beings in the sky, or the rocks, or wherever it is the religionists think their deity hides. For Dean there are facts, cold hard facts. No gods, and no heroes, there's no room for them.

There'd been no god to pray to as he'd watched Punk sleep with the infection, his skin burning with a clammy fever. There'd been no hope of a hero during the days that Dean had been convinced that he'd lose his lover. As much as he'd been certain that he'd fight Death itself to keep Punk, he'd been sure he might actually have had to. It'd been close. When the doctor had said that Punk could have, _should_ have died, Dean's heart had been in his throat. He'd been aware that Punk was close to death, but that close, so close that a doctor was surprised he was still alive, had left Dean with dread. Punk dying had been a real, and likely outcome of that lump. There might be no god in Dean's life, but in that moment he'd offered gratitude to something, what he wasn't sure, but definitely something, medicine and that doctor more than likely.

There's no god in Dean's world, but there is science, and science had saved Punk. Now it's down to Dean to keep Punk alive, to keep him safe whilst he heals. The aftermath of this illness is something Dean's uncertain of. It's not likely that with the pus squeezed out Punk'll be right as rain tomorrow. It's far more likely that recovery will take time, time that Dean wants Punk to spend somewhere with a roof, somewhere warm, somewhere dry. He won't let Punk end up back on the streets. The money the doctor gave Punk is a start, but it's finite. It won't last forever, so Dean's going to have to find some way to keep topping it up. This motel room isn't much, but for now, it's something, and Dean means to hold on to it for as long as possible.

That night Dean can't sleep. They have a roof over their head for their heads for the first time in years. No matter how much they save from the various enterprises they engage in, neither Dean nor Punk ever seem to have enough money gathered to keep a motel room for more than a few days. The money the doctor gave them will last a while, a good long while, and it's something Dean's uncomfortable with. No gods, no heroes, but in this moment this doctor is all but both. He saved Punk's life, he gave them enough money to keep themselves safe and warm for weeks, even based solely on these actions the doctor may as well be a god to Dean and Punk, but that's not all the doctor can do for them.

Punk's past, who he was before he was on the streets, has always been a mystery. Punk doesn't know, and no matter how much time Dean spends looking online in the library, he can't find any information, though that might be because Dean has no idea where to start looking. The doctor knew _Phil_ though, he knew Punk's former self. This doctor saved Punk's life, and now he can give a portion lost to him for so long back. Punk could find out all of the little details he's forgotten. He could finally learn his birthday, could finally know how old he is, what his surname is, where he was born. The little things that so many people take for granted, the little things Punk doesn't know, that he can't even guess at. Dean wants that information for Punk. He wants it for himself too, but mostly he wants Punk to know fully know who he is. This doctor is the key to unlocking Punk's past, and if Punk will accept his offer isn't something Dean's sure of. It'd be good for him, at least Dean thinks it would be. If Punk knew who he was, he might feel better, but in all honesty knowing who _Phil_ was isn't going to change a lot. Even with his past revealed to him, Punk's still going to get headaches, he's still going to forget most things, he's still going to have random mood swings, and bouts of all encompassing dizziness that leave him trembling in Dean's arms.

Knowing wouldn't make Punk whole, but it'd give him something back. This doctor can give Punk something that Dean never could. This doctor is far more capable of saving Punk than Dean is, but he wasn't there for Phil. Dean has many questions for this doctor, and the first is why was Punk alone? Why wasn't there someone there for him? Where the fuck was everyone when he was in that hospital? Why didn't anyone want to save Phil? They're burning questions, ones that Punk no doubt wants to know the answers to, but there's also no doubts that Punk will be afraid of the answers to those questions. He doesn't think Phil was a good person. Dean knows that Punk thinks he was left alone in that hospital for a reason, he knows that Punk is half-convinced that he forgot the life of Phil, because Phil was a terrible person, and nothing of him is worth remembering. Punk might have a point, but Dean isn't so sure. He's almost certain that there has to be a good reason for Punk to have woken up alone after the accident. He can't believe that his Punk wasn't always the sweetly contradictory creature he is now. Phil has to have been a good person, because Punk is. Then again, it might be that Punk is a good person because he's forgotten Phil. The whole thought process is painfully circular, it keeps Dean awake far longer than he's happy about, but one good thing about insomnia is he gets to lie and watch Punk sleep. There's little more reassuring that holding Punk in his sleep. Punk sleeps so well in Dean's arms, he sleeps so deeply, so soundly, that there's a silly part of Dean that puffs up in pride at how safe Punk feels with him.

The first rays of sunshine wake Dean from his hard won sleep. Punk's curled up beside him, his head resting on the same pillow as Dean's, his hand clamped in Dean's shirt. He makes a soft noise as Dean gently pries his fingers from the fabric, his eyelids twitching as though threatening to open.

"Shh, Punk... Stay asleep." Dean soothes him softly, pressing a kiss to the scar on his forehead. Whilst it's the day after Christmas, Dean's certain that somewhere nearby will be open and selling food. Scurriers hate to miss the opportunity to make money, which is okay with Dean, because he needs to stock up some, and maybe take a look to see if there are any help wanted ads in store windows. This motel room will act as point of contact for as long as the money will hold out, before it runs dry Dean needs to find a job, with nowhere to call back to, scurriers will be less likely to employ him. Once Punk's better, he too can look for work, and with both of them employed keeping this little room will be much easier. It's a simple plan, but Dean has faith in it for that very reason. Simple works best in this world.

Dean slips from the bed, and starts pulling on his clothes. He's going to have to get some more respectable looking attire if he's going to land a job, but it's not a major concern in that moment. The many layers of his homeless outfit will serve as a good barrier against the wind he can hear howling outside.

"You leaving?" Punk's voice is quiet, he's sitting up in bed, but only just. He's pale and shaky, the dark rings under his eyes painfully visible even in the low light.

"I'm gonna go get us something to eat." Dean forces a smile to his lips, despite the fact that Punk looks like Death warmed up. He might have been saved, but it was too close. His being alive is nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Dean can't help but want another miracle though. He wants Punk to remembers this little room. It's incredibly unlikely, but there's a part of Dean that'd like Punk to remember that this is the motel room they first had sex in. The bed Punk's in is the first place Dean took him, the first place Punk blew him is here, the first time they lay eating melted ice cream and watching Harry Potter was in this very place. It was a foolish little bit of sentimentality that led to Dean to bringing them back here, but there are times he's sentimental, times he's wants to try and jog Punk's terrible memory with places they've been before. Whilst it never works, Dean keeps trying, keeps hoping to inspire some kind of memory in Punk.

"Kay." Punk smiles slightly, and flops back down. "I'm gonna go back to sleep." He mutters, and Dean can feel a smile stretching his lips. There are no gods, no heroes in Dean's world, for him there's only Punk, and he means to be Punk's hero if nothing else.

* * *

 _Hello! I think I should warn you all know that the chapters will be alternating between Punk's pov, and Dean's - odds are Punk, evens are Dean (despite the fact I can't even with that man. :D)_

 _I'm beyond grateful at all the positive feedback the first chapter received. I can only hope to keep your interest and motivation to review alive. **Many thanks to - Brokenspell77, Rebellecherry, littleone1389, VKxXx92, Ortonfangirl, AshJovillette, Moiself, and guest.**_

 **If you read, please review - even a few words truly keeps me motivated!**


	3. 03

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

The next few days Punk spends lost in a thick haze of drowsiness. When he's not sleeping, he's lying curled up by Dean, feeling his fingers gently stroking over his skin, and Dean's heartbeat under his ear. He can't really remember much from that period of time, mostly just strange feverish dreams, and a pervasive sense of loneliness. It's strange that he should feel lonely, from what he can tell the only time Dean's left this room is to get food. Despite never really been alone in this room, he can't help feeling lonely, even with Dean lying beside him, Punk feels painfully alone, and he can't offer a good reason as to why. He's not alone, he's with Dean, but there's loneliness seeping through his bones, a hollow feeling he can't shake.

"You okay?" Dean's voice cuts through the silence of the room, his hand squeezing Punk's shoulder. Punk's lying cradled against his chest, the sound of Dean's slow steady heartbeat had been lulling Punk into a doze, easing him out of his strange maudlin mood, and into sleep.

"I've no idea." Punk mutters as honestly as he can. He truly has no idea if he is, or isn't okay. His mind is decidedly avoiding thinking about things he should. The slip of paper is still lying on the table by the bed, a little crinkled, and folded many times. Dean's clearly been preoccupied with it whilst Punk has been lying sleeping the immediate aftermath of the infection off.

"You look more awake." Dean tilts Punk's face up, a smile spreading over his lips as Punk nuzzles against his hand. Punk feels more awake, he actually feels like he'd be up to showering, and eating proper food, rather than the soup that Dean's been feeding him for the last few days. "You want something to eat?"

"Dean." Punk forces himself up some more, moving so he's braced over Dean, smiling down at him. "Kiss me?" Punk thinks that request was given too tentatively. A hint of concern flits though Dean's eyes before he tangles his hand in Punk's hair, and pulls him down into a gentle kiss.

"You feeling better?" Dean's hand cradles his face, his thumbs stroking over Punk's eyebrows slowly. There's a look in Dean's eyes, a calm focused look that doesn't waiver as he stares at Punk. It's a look that Punk feels at once vulnerable and safe under. When Dean looks at him like that, Punk knows that no harm will ever come to him. This look is the physical manifestation of Dean's promise to stay with him; it's a look that Punk places all of his faith in.

"I think I could stay awake for a few hours at least." Punk grins, and kisses Dean again. "I'm gonna shower... Brush my teeth if nothing else." Punk's mouth tastes terrible, his teeth feel furry, and whilst he's kind of used to that, in this motel room, they have toothbrushes, toothpaste, and the water needed to facilitate good dental hygiene, not taking advantage of that would be remiss.

"You think you'll be able to stay upright long enough to get cleaned?" Dean chuckles as Punk slips from the bed. His knees feel strangely weak. All in all he feels shaky and frail like a newborn kitten. "I got you." Dean's arms are around Punk's waist quickly, holding him up, and close to his chest. "C'mon, I could use a shower too." Dean's laugh is warm and soft in Punk's ear, his breath far sweeter than Punk's used to. It seems that Dean's been making use of the ability to brush his teeth as often as he likes.

Though they shower together, it's mostly Dean who's in charge of getting them actually clean. Punk's a lot more tired than he'd thought, or at least a lot less coordinated than he'd hoped. The vague attempts he makes at washing Dean end up in little more than accidentally tender caresses that have Dean moaning, then cursing softly, and taking the washcloth from him. Dean is more focussed on bathing than arousing, and whilst Punk would definitely let Dean have sex with him, Dean's very _careful_ when it comes to sex. He always wants Punk to fully enjoy what's happening, and as such they not been together since long before the infection. Whilst Punk understands Dean's motivation, he wants to feel Dean moving inside of him, wants the feeling of being wrapped up in, and filled with Dean. Though perhaps not just yet, because he is perhaps still a little too frail for sex.

"Have you decided what you're going to do about the doctor?" Dean murmurs in Punk's ear as they stand under the warm spray of the shower. They're far past clean, but Dean seems to enjoy staying under the water until its warmth is used up.

"I don't know... I don't think it'd be of any use." Punk lets his head flop back against Dean's shoulder, the warm water hitting him in the face. "He could tell me any old shit, and I'd have no way of proving him wrong."

"Don't you want to know something though? Simple stuff that we can confirm easily?" One of Dean's hands is stroking down Punk's stomach, his fingers straying far enough down to comb through the hair at Punk's groin.

"It sounds to me like you're more interested than I am." Punk moans softly as Dean's hand cups his balls, squeezing them lightly.

"I'm interested, but I think it'd be good for you... I think that knowing even just a little would... I don't know how to say it, Punk." Dean presses a kiss to Punk's temple, his hands moving to rest on Punk's hips. "Even just a little information will give you something back, something you lost, something I can't give you."

"Dean... I don't need any of that back... I'm happy the way we are." Punk turns in Dean's arms, and kisses him lightly. " _But_ I'll talk to the doctor for you, I'll find out my birthday if nothing else." Dean laughs, one of his hands coming up to tangle in Punk's hair.

"Good, I'll finally know when to buy you a present." Dean laughs once more, and kisses Punk again. "C'mon, water's getting cold."

"If I call him, the doctor... If I talk to him, you'll-"

"I'm not going anywhere, Punk. No matter what he says, no matter what you find out, I'm right here." Punk nods slightly at Dean's words, his eyes falling closed. "I love you, I'm not going anywhere." Punk nods once more, and forces a bright smile to his lips, forces himself to look like he fully believes Dean's words. It doesn't matter how many times Punk hears them, there's always a little part of him that doesn't believe, a little part that thinks he'll be left alone once more.

Later that week, with Dean out hunting for work, Punk nervously makes the call to the doctor. The phone ringing sounds almost painfully loud in his ear. It rings so long that Punk considers hanging up, assuming the doctor isn't home or is busy, but eventually he answers.

" _Hello?_ " He sounds tired, and Punk feels incredibly guilty for calling. Doctoring is hard work, with long hours, and he's probably roused the doctor from his hard-earned sleep. Talking to Punk was more than likely an offer he made to be polite, not one he'd expected Punk to take him up on.

"Dr Colton... It's uh..." Punk isn't sure what to say next, he's not sure what name he should use.

" _Phil? Fuck... I didn't think you'd call._ " The doctor sounds relieved, ridiculously relieved, and Punk finds himself feeling painfully uncomfortable. He's not sure what he'd expected from this but to feel relieved and almost happy wasn't it. " _I'm glad you did. How are you? Has the infection come back? Have you been eating? Did you find somewhere to stay? You can-_ "

"I want to talk to you." Punk interrupts the doctor before he finishes that sentence. Punk has the terrible feeling he was going to offer to let Punk stay with him, and the idea isn't something that sits comfortably with him. This doctor has already saved his life, and provided him with a roof over his head, actually staying in the man's home would be too much charity even for Punk to accept.

" _Okay._ " The doctor says plainly, and Punk stalls for what to say next. " _I'm free this afternoon, you can come to my place, or I can meet you somewhere else, somewhere neutral if you'd prefer._ "

"No, your place is okay." Punk suddenly wishes he'd not said that, somewhere neutral would have been better, safer if nothing else.

" _Alright, you have my address? You didn't lose the paper I gave you, did you?_ " The doctor laughs softly, and Punk isn't sure what he's laughing at. Perhaps _Phil_ had had a habit of losing things, and the memory is amusing to the doctor.

"I have it... What time is okay?" Punk fiddles with the slip of paper in his hands, staring down at the neat writing giving the doctor's address.

" _Any time after one. Just knock on the door, I'll be in._ " There's a soft edge to the doctor's voice, a kindly tone that makes Punk feel at once on edge and relaxed.

"Okay, after one." Punk finds himself nodding pointlessly, knowing the doctor can't see him, but feeling the need to nod like a fool anyway.

" _I'll see you then, Phil_."

"Punk... Call me Punk, I don't-"

" _Sorry. I... Yeah, sorry, Punk. I'll see you later?_ " Punk's surprised that the doctor made that a question, but only a little. It seems that for all his relaxed tone the doctor is as nervous as Punk, though he's much better at hiding it.

"Later, Dr Colton." Punk hangs up, and flops on to the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The dingy little motel room is quiet, oppressively so, and he's not sure he feels comfortable in this little room. He wants Dean to be there, but he's out looking for work. He's been mostly gone all week, and Punk's been cooped up in this room alone. He understands, he knows that at least one of them needs a regular income to keep this room, but there's a part of him that misses waking up in Dean's arms, a part of him that misses sitting on the streets by Dean, talking aimlessly of the wonders of life. It's all pointless to think of though, because Dean has decided that they're staying in this motel room for as long as possible. It'll be okay, Punk will adjust to not spending as much time with Dean, and he'll be there when he's not looking for work, or working at the job he'll eventually find. They'll manage. They managed on the streets, and they'll manage off of them.

"So who am I?" Punk blurts the words out without really thinking about them. It's basically the one question he has, the one thing he needs to know. The doctor, _Scott_ he needs to remember to call him that, looks at him blankly for a few seconds before chuckling softly, and shaking his head.

"I can't tell you that... I don't know who you _are_. Who you _were_ , that I can help with, a little at least." There's painful little smile on his face, an expression that _hurts_ to look at, and Punk can't bear to meet the man's eyes.

"Fine, fine... Who _was_ I?" Punk sighs, glancing around the expensive looking apartment. He feels out of place here, had felt out of place shuffling up to the door in the first place. This isn't a place for someone like him. This is a place of wealth, of someone used to a comfortable life with soft beds, and hot water on demand.

"Who were you... _Jesus_... I don't even know where to begin, Phil, Punk... Sorry." Scott sighs, and steps away from the door, waving Punk in. "Sit down... You want something to drink?" Punk takes a seat on the couch, nervously picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, staring around the room. It's spartan, like someone had taken all the decoration down, and never put up anything to replace it, like a show house, somewhere to take people to give them a blank canvas to project what could be their _home_.

"My name... What's my name? There has to be more to it than just Phil." Punk looks nervously at the doctor as he takes a seat on the other couch. He looks as uncomfortable as Punk feels, as though he'd hoped this would be easier, that Punk would somehow magically remember something about him.

"Philip. Philip Jack Brooks." A slight smile spreads over Scott's lips, some _tiny_ fond expression that Punk hadn't expected, and isn't sure what it means. He's not sure if he was as bad at reading people before the accident as he is now, most expressions people wear are utterly bewildering to Punk. The little social cues, and indicators that most people can read and understand are a foreign language to him. Dean is the only exception to this, years of being in each other's company has taught Punk how to read Dean.

" _Philip_? Eww..." The little noise of distaste is out without being thought of, and Punk turns his gaze down to the blandly beige carpet, feeling foolishly childish, and deeply embarrassed.

"Yeah. You always hated it, said _Philip is the name of an old man_." Scott laughs, and Punk looks up at him. Scott's watching him carefully, his eyes unwavering in their focus on him, but as ever the emotion is utterly foreign to Punk.

"I was right." Punk laughs nervously, fussing with the loose thread once more. It's strange talking to this man, strange being in his home, strange to have finally learned his name.

"Still the same as ever, Punkers." Scott laughs, but something about what he just said sticks with Punk, something about _Punkers_ that he thinks he recognises.

"What?" The tone Punk uses is slightly too sharp, and he feels a tad guilty for it, especially when Scott smiles awkwardly, looking away from Punk, fussing with the cup he picked up from the table, taking a quick drink from it.

"Huh?" The awkwardly strained smile on Scott's face doesn't let up.

"What did you call me?" Punk has the distinct feeling he should let this go, but he wants to know what that little slip, because it was clearly a slip, meant.

"You're not Phil, so I called you Punk." Scott finally looks in his direction, but he doesn't meet Punk's eyes, instead he stares at the wall just behind him.

" _No_. You said something else... Something _familiar_." What Scott had said is slipping from Punk's mind like a plastic bag in the breeze, and Punk's attempts at wheedling more information on it fall flat as Scott shakes his head slightly, and sighs.

"No... No, I didn't..." A pain fills the doctor's eyes, an old, dark, brutal pain, and Punk decides to let this go rather than bother him with it further, but he hadn't called him _Punk_ , he'd called him something else, something _fonder_ , something Punk vaguely remembers from before, at least he thinks it's from before, he can't be sure. There's very little Punk can be sure about.

"When's my birthday?" Punk changes the line of questioning, trying to expand on his meagre information about himself. He wants to be able to bring Dean more information than just his name. It's strange, but the majority of the motivation for coming here is Dean. Punk wants to be able to provide some knowledge to Dean to help him unravel the mystery that is Punk's past; he wants the information for Dean even more than he wants it for himself.

"Hmm?" The doctor seems distracted. He shakes his head once more, finally meeting Punks eyes again.

"My birthday, when is it? I think it must be May... I always feel like there's something important that happens in May, so I figure it _must_ be my birthday." Punk smiles at him. He's almost certain his birthday has to be in May. Every year he has the distinct feeling that something important to him happens then, and to him it makes sense that it'd be his birthday. A look of surprise flits over Scott's face briefly, and Punk isn't sure why.

"No... It's." Scott takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, his eyes closing tightly for a second, before he looks at Punk once more. "Your birthday's October twenty-sixth."

"Really? What the fuck happens in May?" Punk's surprised, but he's certain that something big has to have happened to him in May. "Was my accident then?"

"No... I..." Scott sighs, and rubs his face. "I don't think there's anything that'd be important to you in May, Punk, not anymore anyways." He sets his cup down, and rests his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"Huh... Not anymore? I don't understand." Punk leans forward on the couch he's perched on. This feels like a very odd conversation to be in. He'd come for answers, not riddles, riddles are Dean's thing, Punk wants clarity, not more confusion.

"May sixth is my birthday." Scott mutters, and Punk leans back on the couch, a strange feeling he can't quite understand filling him. It wasn't the answer he was expecting, but clearly his doctor was important to him, yet he can't remember a single thing about the man. A low throbbing pain starts to building in his head, and Punk automatically rubs at his scar.

" _Your_ birthday?" He parrots back, and Scott nods, not looking away from the ceiling. "Were we..." Punk fidgets, he knows what he wants to ask, he knows that he wants to know the exact nature of his relationship with this doctor, but he's not sure how to ask the question. If he and Scott were lovers he wants to know as soon as possible, he wants to know so he can find out why he was left alone in that hospital.

"Were we what?" Scott seems to be overly focussed on the ceiling, and Punk chances a glance up at it. The entire thing is covered in random doodles, odd little pictures that seem sorely familiar to Punk. His head gives another throb of pain, and he looks away from the doodles, forcing them from his mind.

"Were we _friends_?" It's a far milder version of the question Punk wants to ask. The evasive way that Scott is acting, the odd awkwardness between them, it all leads Punk to think there might have been more than friendship between them. Even if they were lovers, Punk doesn't remember, and he's sure he doesn't want to dwell on the idea too much. If they were lovers, something must have broken their relationship before the accident, Scott doesn't seem like the type to abandon people.

"We were. We stopped speaking after we graduated from college." Scott sounds unhappy with his answer, and Punk thinks that there must be more to it, but whatever it is Scott's clearly not keen on sharing. It's most likely that they were lovers in college, but something happened that lead to their relationship falling apart, something big, something that left Phil all alone. It's a good explanation for why Punk was alone when he woke up, there was no one left in Phil's life to dote on him in a hospital bed. It's a neat answer, but it doesn't feel quite right to Phil, and the more he thinks on it the more his head throbs.

"Why?" Punk tries to prompt more out of Scott wanting some clarity to try to clear the headache he can feel building, but Scott merely shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter, Punk." He says softly. "You want some tea?" He stands, and leaves the room with his empty cup. Punk follows him, wanting to be away from the doodles on the ceiling, and the thoughts of his past relationship with Scott. He's hoping for some piece of information to click with him, and for all of his memories to fall into place, but it's not likely to happen. "How's your back?" The doctor asks softly as he flicks the kettle on, not looking at Punk.

"It's okay... A little red still." Punk mutters, and the doctor turns to him, his eyes narrowed.

"Let me see. I don't want you getting a secondary infection." His tone is coolly professional, his demeanour entirely changed. "You're still too thin... Have you been eating? I know that good food is expensive, but getting the right balance is very important for your recovery, Punk... I don't want you think it's charity, but I've some stuff for you to take with you. Nothing too fancy, I promise." He laughs softly, and all Punk can do is nod slightly, and fidget under his earnest gaze. "Turn around, let me see the infection site." Punk finds himself complying with the orders. It's far easier to handle being around this doctor when he's being a doctor.

"I don't... I... Thank you... The food, the money you gave me... _This_. Thank you, Scott." Punk mutters, and behind him he can feel the doctor's body heat far more keenly than the press of his fingers against Punk's lower back.

"It's nothing, Punkers..." Scott's fingers linger just a little too long, and Punk isn't sure what he should do. If he steps away, the doctor's kindness might run dry, but if he pushes further than just touching Punk's healing back then Punk's not entirely sure what to do. "Well, it looks like it's healing nicely." The closeness stops being a problem quickly enough. The doctor steps away from Punk, and washes his hands quickly, keeping his back turned as Punk rights his clothes. "Your head... Do you take anything for the pain?"

"Pain? How did-"

"You were rubbing the scar..." Scott fetches another cup, and adds some tea leaves to it. "Here, have some tea with me." He smiles slightly as he pours water into the cup, and drags a cookie jar over, opening it, insisting that Punk takes one, then another, and another after that.

They talk for a while, the topics safe, and bland. Scott telling tales of the hospital, and a couple of little anecdotes from their time together in college. Those little stories made Punk want to remember that time so badly. It sounded like they'd had the best time together, and it makes him wonder even more what happened to make them fall out and not talk to each other. Eventually though, Punk feels like he should be making a move. He's taken up the doctor's entire afternoon, and he should be going back to the motel. Dean will be back soon, and Punk misses him more than he can really express, even to himself. He doesn't want to miss time he could be spending with Dean indulging in nothing more than eating cookies, drinking tea, and wasting Scott's time.

"I should get going... I think I've troubled you long enough." Punk smiles awkwardly at the doctor. A look of something at once guilty and offended comes over Scott's face.

"You've not troubled me. I'm sorry I've not been very helpful, Punk. I wasn't sure what you'd want to know, so I didn't have anything prepared. My next day off is a week tomorrow... Come over? Same time... I'll look some stuff out, some things that might be interesting." A slight smile spreads over Scott's lips. He looks hopeful that Punk will accept his offer, and Punk thinks that he will.

"My signature, could you find my signature?" Punk offers a slight smile to Scott, getting an oddly high-pitched bark of laughter.

"You wanna try forging your own cheques? I'll look, Punk... I'm sure if nothing else I've got a handwriting sample somewhere... You used to write me the strangest notes when we were in college. You'd leave them in the weirdest places." Scott laughs, and Punk stares at him blankly.

"Still can't believe I went to college?" Punk can't even begin to process the idea of himself being in higher education. He's surprised that the information the doctors imparted to him seems to be sticking, but once he's outside Punk intends to write it all down on the little notepad he stole from the motel room just in case.

"Well, you did." Scott smiles fondly, nostalgia colouring his expression. "If it wasn't for college, we'd have never met." His smile grows, clearly lost in his memories. Punk wonders if he remembered would he look back on those times as fondly as the doctor. He thinks he might, but that might be wishful thinking on his part.

"I don't remember." Punk mumbles awkwardly, and Scott's smile falls away. "Next week should be okay with me. Will I call before I come over?"

"Punk... Where are you staying? I can take you." There's a surprising amount of concern in Scott's expression. The sort of level of concern Punk's only ever seen on Dean's face.

"I can walk. It'll be fine." Punk forces a bright smile to his lips, and the doctor looks torn between insisting, and letting Punk do as he wishes.

"I... Alright. Here, before I forget." The doctor goes over to the big fridge, and pulls out a large bag, thrusting it towards Punk. "Fruit, vegetables that you can eat raw..." He pauses, and stares at Punk, his eyes roaming over Punk's face quickly. " _Fuck_... I'm so..." The doctor looks close to tears, and Punk takes the bag from him, wanting to break the awkward moment he's in no way equipped to deal with. The bag is heavy, the weight almost making Punk want to take the doctor up on his offer of a ride back to the motel, but he wants the time it'll take to walk to try to make sense of what he's learned today. He wants to pick out the information that might interest Dean. It's strange, but Punk's entirely sure that the doctor's birthday isn't something Dean will be told, and he can't really say why that is.

"It'll be okay, Scott." Punk pats his shoulder once, a weak smile on his lips. He's no idea if it will be okay, or what it actually is, but Scott seems to take some solace in Punk's words. "I'll see you next week?" Punk calls as he leaves the kitchen.

"Next week, Punkers." The reply is soft, one Punk almost doesn't hear as he takes one last look at the ceiling. He's sure he knows those doodles, and he's sure he knows the name the doctor called him three times, but he's no idea from where.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - Brokenspell77, VKxXx92, , littleone1389, Moiself, and Rebellecherry.**_

 _You know that awful moment when you realise that you lost almost half the reviewers, and you wonder where you went wrong... I had that moment._

 **If you read, please review - even a few words truly keeps me motivated!**


	4. 04

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

Perception is a skewed thing in the world of the scurriers. For them what they perceive is more important than what is true. As a member of the homeless _looking_ like a member of the homeless, Dean would have been thrown out of this nice, clean store. The perception of him clad in thick layers, with spots of duct tape here and there to keep the cold out, was that he would try to shoplift, that he'd be trouble in one way or another. Today, however, he's not dressed as member of the homeless. Today he's dressed in a thrift store suit that he picked up cheap, a suit that in a rare stroke of luck fits him well, and is comparatively new. His shoes are shiny, and his hair's a slightly neater than normal fluffy mess. Today, Dean looks like a scurrier, and the other scurriers are treating him as such. The cashier smiles at him, the other customers are polite, and it's strange, horribly strange. In this moment, Dean is deceiving them all into thinking he's one of them when he's not. The reality is Dean's nothing more than a homeless guy in a second-hand suit, but perception is more important than truth, cold hard facts have nothing on what scurriers perceive.

The walk back to the motel always feels strangely like a walk of shame. He's not managed to find a job yet, and each time he goes back to the room without one he feels a little more like he's letting Punk down. He might be _trying_ to be Punk's hero, but Dean's never been able to save himself. It's nothing more than foolish arrogance to believe that he can save Punk, yet he won't stop trying. Punk inspires the need to be more than he is in Dean, the need to be a saviour, a protector. It's a need Dean wants to fulfil again, and again, never heeding the cold hard fact that needs can never be fully satisfied. For Punk Dean will gladly attempt the impossible.

"Hey!" Punk's always there waiting for him, always wearing a smile, always wrapping him up in a warm embrace, always being Dean's home. He's never felt as _whole_ as when he's with Punk. Life is a riddle, and Dean's certain that the solution to that riddle is his relationship with Punk. With Punk by his side, it feels like he could solve any problem life chooses to throw his way.

"Hello." Holding Punk is like finding the toy in the bottom of a cereal box, wrapping his arms around Punk's body is like being handed a first place trophy, and Dean never tires of it. "You get up to anything exciting today?" There's a bag on the sideboard in the room, a big plastic bag that looks full, and Dean's not sure what Punk could have been out buying. The bag itself is printed with some unknown store's logo, something that looks expensive, which is totally at odds with Punk's nature. Dean wanders over to the bag, and starts rooting through it. "Humus?" He holds up a small tub, and Punk shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips.

"I went to see the doctor today. We had a _chat_ , he gave me humus." Punk laughs, and comes over to Dean, plastering himself against Dean's back. "I like you in a suit... You look _classy_." Punk starts pressing soft little kisses to the back of Dean's neck. He seems far stronger than he has over the last few days, far more awake, and more likely to stay that way, but still delicate, still fragile. As nice as Punk's kisses are, Dean knows he's not recovered enough for Dean to return those more exploratory pecks.

"Classy, but still unemployed. Carrot sticks, celery... I don't even know what this is." Dean holds up another little tub, the scrawl on the lid is smudged making it hard to read. "So, did the doctor say anything interesting?" Dean piles the food back in the bag, and turns in Punk's arms, drawing him into a carefully delicate kiss.

"I wrote the important stuff down." Punk grins, and fishes a small sheet of paper from his pocket. His large, carefully formed handwriting is easy to read, but strangely _young_ looking. The perception of this person who wrote the words on this piece of paper would be that they were a child writing in with their best letters, not of a fully-grown man.

"October twenty-sixth, huh Philip?" Dean chuckles, and Punk pulls an ugly face.

"Don't call me that." He snaps, stepping away from and around Dean to grab the humus and carrot sticks out of the bag. "Scott told me that I never liked my name... Philip Jack Brooks... I don't think I'm a Philip." Punk grins as he sits on the bed. "Grab the celery, and come tell me about your day." Punk pats the bed beside him. "I've missed you." The perception of how Punk said that is that it's little more than a flippant comment designed to make Dean happy, but the truth is that Punk meant it earnestly. Punk worries about being left alone, Dean knows he does, and whilst the last thing he wants is to leave Punk for any length of time, he needs to find a job to keep them housed. Being on his own is something Punk's going to have to get used to. Dean may have to leave for work, but he'll _always_ return home to Punk. His being alone won't be permanent, Dean won't let it be.

"I missed you too." Dean grabs the celery, and the unknown tub, determined to find out what's inside it. "Today... Well, I bought a cell phone." Punk raises an eyebrow, and Dean shakes his head slightly. "Pay as you go, it's cheap. I thought it'd be a good idea."

"Yeah, probably." Punk concedes, and starts eating the carrot stick that he'd dunked in the humus.

"I put in some applications at a few stores nearby, a restaurant, and every bar I walked past... It's all a matter of waiting now." Dean's never really been a big fan of celery, but the humus is pretty good, and covers the odd taste of the vegetable well enough, so he keeps eating it, not yet brave enough for the unknown tub. "So, your birthday, your name, and some humus... Did you get anything else out of the good doctor?"

"That I went to college." Punk mumbles, and lies down, his hand rubbing at the scar on his forehead. "And a headache." Punk laughs quietly, and Dean reaches over to stroke his hair. "I don't remember anything about him, but he remembers me, Dean... He knows me, or at least he knew me when I was in college, and I don't even know what the fuck I was studying." Punk's eyes drift closed, and Dean shifts the food off the bed onto the table beside it, then lies down beside Punk, cradling him close. "I had to have had a goal, a reason for studying something, but I don't even know what my major was... I had to have been smart. I had to have had money, a house, a family... I was a real person once, Dean, and what am I now?" Punk snuggles against him tightly, his face pressed against Dean's chest firmly. "Now, I only just found out my name. I only just found out what day I was born, but I didn't think to ask what year. I... All I have is you." Punk sounds slightly awed as he mumbles that last statement. It would be easy to perceive the _all I have is you_ as an insult, but that perception would be wrong. _All I have is you_ is an endearment, the highest endearment Punk can offer. All he has, all he wants, all he needs is Dean. Punk wants Dean to be his hero, so Dean tries. It's all perception, honest perception of cold hard facts, there's no deception, no skewing of reality between them.

"Will you talk to him again?" Dean kisses Punk's hair, stroking his back over the thick layers of clothing Punk's wearing. He's still dressed like a member of the homeless despite their tenuous housing, but he's not really had the time or energy to go pick out more scurrier style clothing.

"No... Well maybe..." Punk sighs, and shakes his head suddenly. " _Yes_ , next week." His tone is oddly firm, and Dean pulls away from him slightly so he can see Punk's face. "I'm going to talk to him next week. I'll ask what year I was born in... I want to know how much older than you I am." He smiles slightly. Dean shakes his head at him, and presses a quick kiss to his scar.

"I don't care if you're my sugar daddy, Punk." Dean chuckles, and pulls Punk in close once more. "Did he... Did he say how he knew you? Why he wasn't at the hospital?"

"I said." Punk scoffs softly, and rolls his eyes. "We meet in college, we were roommates. Something happened... We had a falling out, and didn't talk after graduation." Punk sounds like there's something on his mind about this, but it might be merely perception, because there's always something on Punk's mind, and he'll share when he thinks it's important.

"So I don't need to worry about him stealing you away?" Dean laughs, and Punk snorts disdainfully, shaking his head.

"No one could steal me away, Dean, _no one_." The conviction in Punk's voice is astounding, and Dean can't think of any way to reply to that comment.

The next morning Dean's back out looking for work, leaving Punk with a soft kiss, and a promise to check back in around lunchtime. Dean's no idea what Punk intends to do with his day. He'll be on his own the whole time, and there's a part of Dean's that's concerned that Punk'll get lonely, but there's nothing to be done. Dean needs to find work, and Punk's a fully-grown man.

He'd checked the money before he'd left, and the roll of bills is sorely depleted. Finding work is a priority, there's not enough money to last much longer even with the deal he'd managed to strike up with the hotel management. Dean needs to find a job by the end of the week, it's imperative, but that day he returns empty handed. The next day passes much the same until it's Thursday, leaving only tomorrow, Friday, as the last day. They've enough money to cover the next week, and that's it. Tomorrow Dean needs some job, _any_ paying job to keep them afloat.

That night, Dean curls up by Punk, and worries about their situation, worries about money, about finding a job, about keeping Punk safe, about Punk in general. All evening Punk had been quiet, and distant. His mind is clearly preoccupied with the little information he gained from the doctor. Dean understands that learning even a little about himself is confounding for Punk, but he wishes Punk was more at peace with this sliver information about himself. He seems unable to reconcile the fact that the information about _Phil_ is also about _Punk_. Dean's no idea how to help him, no idea how to help meld the two together, so all he does is lie holding Punk close, stroking his back, wishing to be more helpful to him. It hurts knowing that there's nothing Dean can do to help Punk with this. It's a problem Punk has to face on his own, and the only person who can help him is the doctor. This isn't something Dean is in any way able to be of use in, and it's infuriating. He always wants to be the one to help Punk, but when it comes to his past, Dean's beyond worthless.

That morning after leaving the motel room, with Punk still asleep, Dean heads to the library to start trawling through online jobsites. He's not hopeful of finding something on the Internet, but he figures it won't hurt to look. There's never any harm in just looking. The cell chirps suddenly, and Dean answers after checking the number.

"Hello?"

" _Is this Mr Dean Ambrose?_ " The voice on the other end of the line is slightly high pitched, and nasal. The accent isn't familiar to Dean, and he doesn't recognise the number, but he supposes it's one of the numerous places he's applied to for a job.

"It is. How can I help?" It feels like he asked the wrong question, because the other person laughs, a grating little sound that has Dean clenching his teeth.

" _I'm calling to invite you down for an interview._ " The person says, and then laughs again. " _Sorry, I should have said earlier, I'm Seth Rollins, from The Shield nightclub._ " Dean's eyes narrow as he tries to remember which of the many nightclubs and bars that he's applied to that one is. " _The gay bar?_ " He apparently had been silent too long, and he can feel the back of his neck heating up in embarrassment.

"Yeah, of course I remember." Dean mumbles, wishing he'd made better notes of where he'd left his pitifully small resume.

" _Great! Then I'd like for you to come down as soon as you can. Your resume said you were available immediately, and were bar trained._ " There's an awkward pause, and Dean's not sure how to break it when it lasts a little longer than he's comfortable with. " _I won't lie, this isn't an interview. It's a hiring. We're screwed, the last bar tender didn't work out, and we're booked for a big wedding party tonight, and we're basically taking on everyone. There's no guarantee of a job after tonight, but there's at least one solid paycheque in it for you. Come down as soon as you can, and we'll start training you on the cocktails._ "

"I'll be there by twelve." Dean's already on his feet, and leaving the library. One paycheque isn't much, but if he does a good job, he might get hired permanently, and even if he doesn't it's something else to add to the resume, as well as some more money to add to the pitifully small amount he and Punk have left.

Dean arrives at the club a little after eleven-thirty. The place is brightly lit, the walls painted a dark grey, the floor black, though the elevated dance podiums are starkly white with gleaming silver cages on top. At night with all the bright lights switched off, it must be a very dark, but Dean supposes that's what scurriers like in their nightclubs. It's easier to persuade people into the perception you want them to have when they can't really see you in the first place.

"Mr Ambrose? Hello!" The voice from the phone greets Dean as he wanders through the seemingly empty club. "C'mon in, and we'll get you fitted up for a uniform." The face to go with the voice isn't familiar to Dean, but he's not been paying too much attention to the faces of the people he's been dropping resumes off with. The man's grinning at him, gesturing for Dean to follow him. "So, once you're all in the gear, we'll get started on teaching you the speciality cocktails. Most people order the normal stuff... We've a big _sex on the beach_ market." He laughs, and Dean wonders if he's expecting an answer in amongst his rambling. "But, there's a lot who really go for the house specials... The Cerberus is very popular, and the Triple Power-bomb shot always sells well. It's a layered shot, so you've gotta be careful, can't let the layers be all droopy." He laughs again, and Dean bites back a noise of frustration. This man is clearly fond of the sound of his own voice.

"Mr Rollins?" Dean interrupts before he can keep talking.

"Huh?" He holds open a door, waving Dean through it into what looks like a locker room. "What is it?"

"I'm just wondering when I start-"

"And when you finish no doubt? And it's Seth... Mr Rollins is too-"

"Professional?" Another voice cuts in, a smooth baritone that's laced with amusement. "You'll have to excuse Seth. He's rather fond of the sound of his own voice." The new comer sticks his hand out, and Dean looks him over quickly. He's tall, with rich golden skin, thick luxurious hair, deep brown eyes, and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. "I'm Roman. Roman Reigns, co-owner of this place." Dean takes Roman's hand, and shakes it quickly once.

"Dean Ambrose, one-night only but hoping for more bar tender in this place." Dean laughs uneasily, wishing he'd said something a little smoother, or at least less like a haplessly cheesy chat-up line.

"Hoping for more, eh?" Roman smirks, and Dean glances away. He'd hoped this guy would have let him away with that slip, but apparently not. "Well, I guess we'll see based on your performance tonight." He turns away from Dean to Seth, a look of mild annoyance crossing his face. "Where's his uniform?"

"I was just going to ask his size, _Ro_." Seth sneers sharply, and Dean feels desperately uncomfortable with their squabbling, but he needs this job, he needs it for as long as possible, so he's going to have to deal with these two.

"Those shoulders definitely need a large, that ass too... But that itty-bitty waist?" Roman chuckles, and Dean clears his throat.

"Uh... I'll help you look?" He offers to Seth. Surprisingly, all Seth does is nod, and lead Dean over to a closet. Inside there's a selection of what looks like dress-up riot gear that Dean supposes is the uniform for the bar, but the pants look at little too tight, and the tactical vests a little too small to be very useful in a shoot-out.

Once he's kitted out in the right attire, Seth leads Dean back through to the bar. The few cocktails he shows Dean are fairly complex, but Dean's determined to remember them. This is the first, and only job that's called him back, and if they need someone long-term Dean intends to make sure it's him they keep. A few other one night only staffers arrive a little after three, and Seth seems to revel in having a larger audience for his ramblings. Roman remains silently pottering around the club, his eye flickering over to Dean every so often. There's an edge to his gaze that makes Dean feel fidgety. There's a heat in those eyes that Dean isn't sure if he likes being directed at him. It all makes him think of Punk lying in a motel bed alone. Thoughts Dean needs to chase from his mind so he can focus on listening to Seth's increasingly meandering orientation speech.

At about five o'clock, Seth announces that they have two hours to go grab something eat. Dean's sure he wouldn't be able to make it to the motel and back in that time, but he's also sure he wants to talk to Punk if he can't see him. There's one number saved in the cheap cell phone he bought, and that's the motel's reception. He dials, and requests to be put through to the room he shares with Punk.

" _Hello?_ " Punk sounds understandably confused, and Dean closes his eyes trying to picture the expression on Punk's face.

"Hey baby." Dean murmurs quietly. He's sitting in a cheap little restaurant near the nightclub, a plate of the cheapest meal on the menu in front of him, and a glass of tap water, but it's nowhere near as interesting as hearing Punk's softly confused voice.

" _Dean? What's wrong? Why aren't you home?_ " A smile spreads over Dean's lips at Punk calling the motel room home. That's the only reason he's working in this bar, that's the only reason he's going to put on the silly uniform and flirt his ass off to make the customers buy more drinks from him than anyone else. Punk deserves a home, and whilst for now it's a crappy little motel room with more significance than Punk realises, one day it'll be an apartment, then maybe a real house. Dean intends to work until they've secured a home they can be both be proud of, one day the little lean-to shack by a park wall they slept in will be nothing but a hazy nightmare, not the reality of a few weeks ago.

"I've got a job. It's o-"

" _A job? Dean, that's great! I'm proud._ " Punk sounds genuinely proud of him, and Dean can feel a beaming grin stretching his lips.

"It's not much, just bartending for the night, but it's a start." Dean opens his eyes once more to look at his food. It's not the most appetising looking fare, but he needs to eat it so he can make it through the night.

" _It's a job though, so it's a good start. You'll be back late, won't you?_ " Punk trails off, a heavy silence coming from over the phone for a few seconds. " _I'll make sure to keep your side of the bed nice and warm for when you're home._ " He sounds like he's forcing himself to sound upbeat, and Dean forces his mouthful of food down.

"Punk... I'll be home, you know that." Dean keeps his voice soft and even, filling it with reassurance, but Punk's not an easy creature to placate sometimes. There are times when his fears get the best of him. Punk's fear of being abandoned kept Dean from accepting offers of overnight work from johns when they'd been on the streets. His fear of being abandoned kept Dean from searching too far for food when Punk had been too sick to walk. Punk's fear of being abandoned keeps Dean close to him, but it's not a tether, it's not a cage trapping Dean, rather it's a fear that lets Dean indulge his own fear of not being enough. His whole life he's been painted with the perception that he's not enough. Not smart enough, not clean enough, not attractive enough, not good enough, but for Punk he's everything. For Punk Dean's perfect, and Dean clings to Punk because of that.

" _You said for the night? Do they only need you tonight? Isn't there the chance of any more nights?_ " Punk seems to be forging ahead with trying to hide his anxiety, and Dean knows better than to push him. If you push Punk to open up, he'll clam up instead, and won't say anything for days.

"Maybe. I'll need to be impressive tonight though, so I'm worrying about it first." Dean laughs, and the laugh Punk gives in returns is halfway believable.

" _You're always impressive, Dean. No worries there. When do you start?_ " There's a rustling sound over the phone, and Dean supposes that's Punk opening something to eat, probably a pot of instant noodles, which sound about as appetising as Dean's plate of vaguely recognisable mush.

"Seven sharp. I'm gonna finish up eating, and then go. Be asleep when I get home, okay?" Dean takes another bite of food, washing it down with some water.

" _Dean... I'm always asleep._ " Punk laughs, and Dean smiles slightly to himself.

"You're still healing, Punk. Sleep is very important to your recovery." Punk scoffs at Dean's words, a low unimpressed sound.

" _I'm sick of being asleep. You'll be tired tomorrow though, so I guess I'll take advantage of my sleepiness to get to cuddle you all day._ " Punk chuckles to himself softly, and Dean laughs along with him, pretending to ignore the slightly forced edge to Punk's laugh.

"Like I'd let you not cuddle me all day." Dean finishes up his food, and glances at the clock on the wall opposite. He should head back to the club; it's almost time to start his first, and hopefully not only, shift.

" _Have fun at work, honey._ " This statement Dean perceives as being given more honestly than several other things Punk's said in this phone call, he does at least really want Dean to enjoy his work.

"I'll try." Dean downs the glass of water, and stands, tossing a few bills down to cover the cheque, and a modest tip for the waitress. "I should get going. Get some more rest. I'll be home before you know it."

" _Yeah... Not likely, Dean._ " The perception of that comment has Dean aching to be at home, longing to bundle Punk up in his arms, but that's impossible. He needs to be where he is, he needs this job. " _I'll be waiting to hear all about your first day._ "

"I gotta go, baby. I love you, and I'll be home soon as I can." Dean dodges his way across the street, pausing outside the nightclub.

" _I know... Good luck, and Dean, I love you too._ " There's no way to misperceive Punk's final words. There's no way to skew them, not that Dean would try though, because there's no way to skew cold hard facts.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - littleone1389, Brokenspell77, VKxXx92, Guest, Rebellecherry, and Guest.**_

 _I really can't fall asleep for some reason... so I wrote this chapter up, mayhaps I'll sleep now it's not on my mind._

 **If you read, please review - even a few words truly keeps me motivated!**


	5. 05

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Smut, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

The motel room seems even emptier than usual without Dean there. He's working, sure it's only for a night, but Punk's certain that he'll be able to persuade whichever bar he's working at that they'll need him longer, sure that Dean'll make himself invaluable. He's incredibly good at becoming vital, though that might only be to Punk. He's proud of Dean, proud and happy, but _alone_. The food he ate feels like it was shot through with lead, and it sits in an uncomfortable lump in his stomach, giving him no rest as he lies staring at the ceiling.

Punk doesn't have many options for ways to spend his time. He's too tired to go out, and all he'd do if he did head out would either be begging or trying to turn a trick. Both of which would be helpful, but they seem counterproductive to the life Dean seems to want to forge for them, so staying in is the only option. Staying put in the motel room means Punk can either stare at the TV, or think. Thinking hurts his head, but so does the TV, he needs a hobby, or a job, or friends maybe, something other than what he is doing.

He's caught in a loop thinking about his past, and has been since his visit to the doctor's home. They were friends. He, well _Phil_ , was friends with Scott. At one stage in Punk's life, he had friends, but since he left the hospital, he's had little more than acquaintances. He never gets close enough to people to let them become his friends. Dean's the only exception, but he's not sure that they're friends. He knows Dean loves him, but if he _likes_ him is another matter. You don't have to like someone to love them; you don't have to be their friend to be their lover.

It's not a good loop of thinking to be caught in, but he's more than a little excited at the thought of getting to talk to the doctor again. He doesn't have too long to wait for that opportunity. The start of next week Punk can call to arrange another meeting, and he'll be able to glean a little more information about himself, he'll be able to piece together a little more of who he was.

When Dean gets back, it's the early hours of the morning. He's clearly trying to be quiet, but he's also clearly a little drunk, his actions strangely in slow motion. Punk sits up in bed, watching him carefully peeling his clothes off, and going to shower, all without acknowledging Punk's presence.

"You alright?" Punk asks as he draws the shower curtain back. Dean's standing with his eyes closed, the water beating down on his face. He barely moves to acknowledge Punk, his shoulder shrugs slightly, and he makes a vague grabby motion in Punk's general direction.

"Tired. They want me back tomorrow." Dean's eyes open once he finishes talking, a smile spreading over his lips. "I'm a little drunk... The bosses gave me some beer to celebrate my being hired."

"I can see that." Punk murmurs coolly. He's never seen Dean drunk before. Punk doesn't drink, alcohol is expensive, and seemingly Dean was more concerned with saving money and Punk's distaste for alcohol than drinking when they were on the streets. "They were happy with you?" Dean nods, a big grin spreading over his lips.

"I'm good at my job." He sounds proud, and Punk can't resent him that pride. It's rare for Dean to seem proud of himself for anything, it's rare for there to be anything to be proud of in the first place.

"I'm proud." Punk smiles softly at Dean, and pulls his shirt over his head, then sheds his boxers quickly.

"You're showering?" Dean asks, bemusement in his tone. "You didn't shower earlier? Oh." Dean's head falls back against the tiles as Punk takes his cock in his mouth. Punk's sure that full sex is out for both of them. Dean's too tired from working all night, and Punk is still recovering, but a blowjob is something he's definitely capable of, and something he's very intent on. Dean's hands cup the back of Punk's head, offering no pressure, no guidance, just resting there, letting Punk control the speed at which he moves. It's slow and shallow, more like a handjob with Punk's lips wrapped around the head of Dean's cock, but the soft sounds Dean's making leaves Punk in no doubt about how good it feels. It's been a long time since Punk's tasted Dean's cock, and it tastes different to how it did on the street. It's probably the fact that they're both a lot cleaner now, but Dean tastes a lot better than he did in the past. "Oh fuck, baby... You're good at this." Dean's mumbling to himself, and Punk opens his eyes, meeting the hazy gaze of his lover. Punk deliberately pulls away from Dean's cock, and starts laving at his balls, catching one in his mouth, sucking on it lightly. Dean makes an inarticulate groan of a noise, his nails digging into Punk's scalp. Eventually Punk returns to sucking on Dean's cock, one hand moving along the length of the shaft with purpose, the other toying with Dean's balls.

"You close?" Punk mutters as he draws away to take a deep breath. Dean nods vaguely, and Punk grins up at him. He takes Dean's cock into his mouth once more, and keeps moving forward, enveloping Dean's entire dick. There's another groan from Dean, and his fingers tighten their grip on Punk's head. Punk pulls back slowly, letting the head of Dean's cock rest at his lips for a brief moment whilst he takes another breath.

"Can I fuck you?" Dean mutters, his hands sliding around to cradle Punk's face gently. Punk nods up at him, and takes Dean's cock in fully once more. Even though Dean had asked to _fuck_ Punk, it's not as rough as Punk had expected, and almost hoped. It's fast, and firm, but not rough. Dean's fingers pressing against his head are sharp little points of pressure, whilst they hurt a little, it's a reassuring kind of pain, the sort of pain that Punk doesn't mind. Dean's cock moving in and out of his throat is a pale imitation of what Punk would really like, but Dean's far too close, and Punk's nowhere ready to be taken the way he'd like, so letting Dean fuck his throat is the best he can manage. When Dean comes, Punk swallows down his cum, and leans away from him, lapping the last of Dean's cum from the head of his cock.

"I'm proud of you." Punk grins up at him, and Dean laughs loudly.

"I'm gonna have to make you proud more often then." Dean sinks to his knees, and kisses Punk. "I'm gonna take care of you, you know that right? I'm gonna keep you safe, keep you warm, keep you fed... I'm gonna _keep_ you, Punk... _Never_ letting you go." Dean kisses him once more, and Punk returns the kiss frantically. Dean has a way with words, a mastery that makes shivers run down Punk's spine.

"Hmm... C'mon, let's get you to bed. You've had a busy night." Punk makes no moves to stand though; instead, he kisses Dean, more slowly this time. It's a kiss that he tries to pour everything he has into, a kiss that he wants to reassure Dean that every single promise Dean just made Punk makes in return. He might still be recovering, but Punk wants to keep Dean, he wants to protect him, wants to make him happy, wants to make Dean feel safe, wants to make Dean want to stay. Punk hopes that the kiss conveys his meaning, because the words to express how he feels are always beyond him. He can never find the right way to tell Dean how he feels about him.

The next morning Punk calls the doctor, clearly waking him up, and they quickly arrange to meet at the same time as last week. Once more Punk wishes he'd arranged to meet somewhere neutral, but he agrees to meet at Scott's apartment again.

"You're up early." Dean's voice is a little rough, and it jolts Punk from his thoughts on his meeting with the doctor.

"You should still be asleep. You got back late last night." Punk slips back into bed by Dean, and nuzzles against him. "So you're working again tonight?"

"Uh-huh... Every night this week." Dean presses a kiss to the top of Punk's head, then pulls away, tilting Punk's face up. "You shaved your hair off?"

"Last night... I was sick of washing it. You like it?" Punk isn't sure if Dean will approve of the short stubble covering his head rather than the scruffy mess of hair that had been there before, and the look on Dean's face says he isn't sure how he feels about it.

"Hmm... You look-"

"You don't like it, huh?" Punk smirks. He can't say he's surprised that Dean doesn't like the shaved head, but it's easier to deal with, and Punk thinks it looks okay if nothing else.

"I didn't say that." Dean scoffs, rubbing his hand over Punk's head. "It makes your eyes look huge." He yawns, covering his mouth by pressing it against Punk's shoulder. "It's different, makes you look _tough_."

"I am tough." Punk laughs, and Dean nods slightly.

"That you are, Punk, that you are. So why are you up so early?" Dean's fingers are running over the stubble on Punk's head, carefully tracing the shape of Punk's skull.

"Was talking to the doctor, I'm meeting him later." Punk's eyes drift closed under Dean's gentle ministrations. He's always liked the feeling of Dean stroking his hair, and now without hair in the way he likes it even more.

"Oh? That's good. You'll have to make me some more notes." Dean grins, and Punk nods absently. He'll take another sheet of paper from the notebook so he can jot down the more interesting points for Dean. "You gonna let me cuddle you some more, or do you have somewhere to be?"

"I'm all yours." Punk smiles, settling himself more comfortably against Dean's chest. There's several hours before he needs to go see the doctor, so he can afford a nap with Dean.

"Good, cause I'm not letting you go." Dean mumbles as he drifts off back to sleep.

As Punk leaves the motel room a couple of hours later Dean's still asleep, so he scrawls a quick note, setting it down under the cell phone on the bedside table. It's a simple note of little more than _I'll not be long, but if I'm not back before you have to go to work - I love you, and have a good night._ It's plain, but honest, like so much of what Punk manages to express for Dean. He doesn't often have the words he wants to express how much he loves Dean, how much he needs him, how much he wants him, so plain and honest have to suffice.

"Hey." The doctor's wearing a soft smile when he opens his door. He looks tired, and surprisingly scruffy, several days worth of stubble on his face, with dark rings under his eyes. Punk feels a little guilty for taking up his time, but the doctor had offered, and hadn't objected to Punk coming to him today.

"You growing a beard, Colt?" Punk laughs at him, and is surprised by the sound of the doctor sucking air in through his teeth sharply. He meets Scott's eyes, caught by the look of pain in them. "What? It's a fine beard, Scott... I was joking." Punk has the feeling he's done something wrong, or at least hurt the doctor somehow, but he's no idea how. He'd only made an admittedly not funny comment about the stubble, nothing more nothing less.

"I know... I know." Scott ushers Punk further into the house, and closes the door behind him, forcing a smile to his face. It's not often Punk can tell if someone's smile is false, but the one Scott's wearing is obviously not sincere, and Punk isn't sure why. "I have a present for you... A couple of presents actually... I... C'mon, first things first you look cold." Punk follows along behind Scott, wondering if he should have taken his outermost layer off when he'd entered the apartment.

"Its winter, of course I'm cold." Punk mutters, and the doctor chuckles, gesturing to the couch Punk had sat on the first time he'd come to visit. Scott heads for the kitchen, leaving Punk alone in the living room. Punk glances up at the doodles on the ceiling, trying to work why they're so familiar to him, but he draws a blank, and turns away from them before studying them gives him a headache.

"Here, you always liked hot chocolate." Scott hands Punk a mug topped off with whipped cream. Punk takes a sip of the chocolate, and pauses, his eyes falling closed. It's thick, creamy, and ridiculously delicious. When he opens his eyes once more, Scott's standing watching him, a little smile on his face. "It's okay?" Punk nods dumbly, he doesn't have the words to describe how good it tastes. "Good." Scott disappears into the kitchen once more, and Punk takes another sip of the chocolate. When he returns, Scott sets a plate of cupcakes down, and then a mug of his own. It doesn't look like he's got hot chocolate, but if he wants to miss out on chocolately goodness that's his business. He wanders over to somewhere behind Punk, by the sounds of things he's rooting through a drawer. On his way past Punk to the other couch, he sets a sheath of papers on the coffee table in front of Punk.

"What's this?" Punk sets his mug down and takes up the paper.

"Here, it's the lease for your apartment... A little old, but it's your signature." Scott sits on the couch opposite Punk, and takes a sip from his own mug.

"My apartment... Where was it?" Punk stares down at the papers in his hand, at the unfamiliar loopy signature. He can't work out how it's even close to his name, but apparently, it is.

"Here." Scott mutters, taking another sip from his mug.

" _This_ apartment?" Punk stares at him incredulously. This apartment is _big_ , it has to expensive, and he can't imagine ever being able to afford it.

"Yeah... It was yours." Scott sets his mug down, and smiles awkwardly at him. "I..." He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "I took it on when your lease ran out. I always hoped you'd come home." He laughs softly, and Punk can't keep looking at him. Phil was someone important to Scott, and even if they weren't talking to each other there was still hope for reconciliation between them with Scott.

"I didn't even know about this place... The..." Punk glances up at the ceiling, at the random doodles up there, and Scott nods.

"They were there when I first came here." Scott doesn't expand on that, instead he grabs the shoebox that's sitting beside him, and sets it on the table. "I thought you might like to see these." Scott stands, and comes over to sit by Punk.

"What is it?" Punk's surprised that the urge to tense up doesn't come over him when Scott sits beside him. He's close, not quite touching Punk, but even through the layers of clothes Punk's wearing, he can feel Scott's presence sharply.

"Photos." Scott grins, and flips the lid off the shoebox. Inside there's hundreds of photographs. Punk picks the top one out and stares at it. It's a photo of Phil and Scott. Phil's draped over Scott's back, wearing a grin that's as big and goofy as the one on Scott's face. They look happy, relaxed and comfortable in each other's company. It's a nice photo, but it doesn't jog any memories in Punk at all.

"There's a lot of them in here." Punk mutters, not looking away from the photo in his hand. The picture's edges are soft, worn from repeated handling.

"Yeah... There's a few, too many for one day, right?" Scott laughs, and takes a handful out of the box, starting to flip through them. "Here, take a look." He hands the stack of photos to Punk, and then closes the lid of the box. Punk sets the first picture down, and turns to the top photo in the stack Scott handed him.

"Who are these people?" Punk gestures to the unknown faces in the picture. Scott moves a little closer, his thigh and shoulder pressing lightly against Punk's. The proximity should be freaking Punk out, but instead he finds he doesn't much mind. Scott's warm, and rather than feeling slightly threatened, Punk feels oddly calmed by the contact.

"That's you." Scott points to one face, and Punk snorts disdainfully. "What you asked." Scott grins at him, then seems to realise how close they are to each other, and moves back a little, putting some distance between them once more.

"I know that's me... And that's you? Jesus... The frosted tips were atrocious. For your sake I hope I told you that." Punk smirks over at Scott. There's a part of him that wants to move closer once more, but he's not sure why, so he ignores it.

"Regularly... You were a regular fashion mogul." Scott laughs, and leans over the table to snag his mug.

"One of the _many_ things I've forgotten clearly." Punk mutters, not looking up from the picture. He knows how he looks, he knows how he's dressed, and not for the first time he's embarrassed by it.

"Oh! Wait here." Scott stands suddenly, and leaves the living room again. "I know it's late for Christmas, and your birthday, but consider it as covering all the ones I've missed, okay?" There's a soft thud beside him, and Punk stares at the big paper wrapped bundle that landed on the couch.

" _Colt_ -"

"Can you not say that?" Scott says softly, taking a seat on the couch opposite Punk. Punk glances up from the package to look at him in confusion. There's a stricken look on the doctor's face, and Punk's not entirely sure what he's done to cause it. "You don't even realise you've done it, do you?"

"Done what?" Punk fiddles with the tape keeping the present wrapped, trying to work out what Scott's talking about.

"Nothing... Forget it, open your present." Scott forces a smile to his face, and Punk tries to keep a scowl from forming on his own. He peels the present open carefully, and stares down at it. "Don't." Scott moves to sit by him once more. "I can hear what you're thinking, and I'm telling you to stop it."

"I can't take this, Scott." Punk folds the paper back over the bundle of clothes that's inside. It all looked very nice, very warm, and very expensive.

"I'm sure this ensemble is great for where you were, but you're not there anymore, are you?" Scott gently slides the parcel out from under Punk's clenched fists, and sets it between them on the couch. "Your boyfriend's got you a place to stay, hasn't he?"

"How'd you know that?" Punk mutters, refusing to look over that doctor sitting beside him. He can't the clothes in that parcel, he's already taken enough from Scott, he can't take anymore.

"You look cleaner... And I don't think that shelters would have clippers so you could buzz all your hair off." Scott laughs softly, and Punk rubs a self-conscious hand over his shorn hair. He knows that without the long strands of hair he looks odd, but he was getting sick of having to wash it every time he took a shower, and its cosy in the motel room, he doesn't need the length to keep his head a little warmer. "It suits you... Makes you look kinda..." Scott trails off, and Punk isn't exactly interested in what he was going to say so he doesn't press. Dean hadn't liked it either, so Punk thinks he's probably going to have to let his hair grow back, and deal with washing it. "You're not on the streets anymore, so you can-"

"We're only going to end up back there, Scott. This is nice, but it's not useful to me there." Punk cuts in, and Scott laughs at him.

"You think I'd let you end up in a cardboard box again? You really have forgotten me if you think I'd let that happen to you twice. If I'd known the first-"

"Where were you then?" Punk snaps, and Scott moves once more, crouching in front of Punk, leaving him with no choice but to meet Scott's eyes.

"Do you want me to tell you?" Scott sounds reluctant, as though he's genuinely uncertain of the value of telling Punk why they fell out.

"What did I do, Scott? That picture... We look so..." Punk closes his eyes, and sighs, not tensing when he feels Scott's finger trace around the scar on his forehead.

"We were friends, Punk, _best_ friends, but... You did nothing wrong, okay? Nothing that happened with me was your fault. Nothing that happened with a lot of stuff was your fault, it's just life decided to play you a shitty hand." Punk screws his eyes closed tighter at the doctor's words. This whole conversation is beginning to give him a headache; he can feel it building piece by piece, a low throbbing ache forming in his brain. "C'mon." Scott stands, and offers Punk a hand. "It'll be weird as hell, but take a shower, and try on your new clothes, hmm? I'll wash your old stuff, stitch up the holes, and you can take it back next week."

"You really gonna let me back in next week?" Punk stands without taking Scott's hand; instead, he clutches the paper wrapped bundle close to his chest.

"Of course." Scott smiles brightly at him, and leads the way to the bathroom. "Toss the dirty stuff out the door." He turns on the shower, sets a clean towel down near the shower, and leaves the room.

"You didn't buy me panties did you?" Punk calls as he considers the bathroom, and the running water. It is _very_ strange bathing in what is essentially a stranger's house, but as a whore Punk's done stranger things.

"You wear panties now? If only I'd known... Just plain old boxers, Punkers." Scott calls back, and Punk tosses his old clothes out of the bathroom door, keeping his hat with him, he feels oddly better with it near him. That nickname burns brightly in Punk's mind as he bathes, but as ever his recollection of it fades far too quickly, only the little spark of warmth in the pit of his stomach it inspires stays with him.

The clothes in the bundle turn out to be fairly practical, or at least the thermal underwear is if nothing else. The boxers are plain, and came in a multipack, the socks very much the same; the sweater is a little too classy though. Punk thinks its cashmere or some other overpriced wool, its cloud soft, surprisingly warm, and a deep rich black. The jeans are a little too big in the waist, but with the belt cinched tight they fit well enough. Punk's tatty boots look incredibly out of place with the whole outfit, and he's going to freeze as soon as he gets outside. He'd given all of his layers to Scott, including his coat, without it he's going to be a popsicle as soon as he steps out the doctor's door. As nice as the clothes are, and as kind as the thought behind them is, Punk can't help but wonder what the doctor wants for all of this. No one is ever this kind without wanting something in return, and Punk's not entirely sure what the doctor could want from him.

"I have no idea how you managed to keep warm in this stuff." Scott calls out once Punk emerges from the bathroom. "It's all tape, and grime." Punk follows the sound of his voice, and finds him in a laundry room, carefully washing Punk's overcoat.

"Tape and grime are good insulators." Punk mutters, coming into the room, and glancing at the washing machine. Inside it he can see flashes of familiar colours, the many layers of his clothes tumbling around in amongst the suds.

"Hmm, I'll take your word for it." Scott looks up from his work, and stares blankly at Punk for a few seconds. "Did they fit okay? I guessed on sizes."

"Yeah, fits fine." Punk shuffles from foot to foot a little, and rubs at the soft sweater sleeve. Then leaves the room to go grab the pile of photos, returning, and standing by Scott.

Whilst Scott cleans Punk's coat, Punk leafs through the photos asking after people in each one, finding out things that he almost immediately forgets, asking the same questions over and over, knowing it has to be annoying, but being continually surprised by Scott's patience with him. The repayment for this kindness is going to be steep, Punk's sure of it.

"Who are they?" The last picture in the bundle is of a middle-aged couple, two people that haven't featured in any other photograph. Scott sighs softly, and turns to Punk. He's just finished unloading Punk's coat from the washing machine, and hanging on a drying rack.

"They're your parents." Scott says softly, and Punk quickly returns to staring at the picture. "Here, another present." Scott hands Punk another piece of paper. "Your birth certificate." Scott ushers Punk out of the laundry room, and to the living room once more. Punk all but collapses onto the couch, and stares between the photo and the certificate.

"My parents? Where are they? Why weren't they looking for me?" Punk runs his finger over the section of the piece of paper with his parent's details. He wonders if they still live there, if he went would they talk to him, would they be overjoyed at the return of their son, or would they not care.

"You weren't really... _Close_ to your parents." Scott sits down by Punk, only to stand up again quickly. He seems uncomfortable, and Punk isn't sure why.

"How'd you mean?" Punk looks up at him, watching the doctor pacing the room.

"You didn't talk to them. You'd not spoken to them since you sixteen." Scott looks pained, and Punk has the horrible feeling the next question will have Scott trying to back out of answering it.

" _Oh_... Why?" The look that crosses Scott's face at the question leaves Punk in no doubt that no answers will be forthcoming today.

"Punk... I... Isn't this a lot for one day? I know you have a thousand questions, but slowly, okay? I don't want to overwhelm you." Scott perches on the arm of the couch, a soft smile on his lips.

"Yeah, I guess..." Punk smiles slightly, folding the birth certificate up, and slipping it into his pants pocket. He's gotten a lot out of today. He's found out he rented the apartment he's sitting in, he's seen the faces of so many people he doesn't remember but was apparently friends with, he learnt his parents' names. The hows and whys of what happened with all of these people can wait; he's got plenty of time for finding out more. There's nothing much from what he's learned today to tell Dean, but he can finally tell Dean just how much of a toy boy he is. He doesn't think much of anything else he's learned will be of interest to Dean at all. He can't see Dean being interested in people Punk doesn't remember, people that didn't care about Phil enough to be there for him in the hospital, or to look for him once he left.

"Next week... My day off is different." Scott stands again, and gestures to Punk to follow him. "This is my schedule." He points to a calendar on the wall of the kitchen. Punk fishes the little scrap of paper he'd taken from his coat pocket out, and scribbles down the dates. Next week the doctor has two days in a row off, and Punk isn't too sure which would be the best to come visiting on.

"Which day will I come annoy you on?" Punk doesn't look over at Scott, but he can tell the moment the doctor comes closer, he can feel a spark in the pit of his stomach, and wills it away.

"Both." Scott sounds so firm about that, and Punk closes his eyes, ignoring the shiver that ran through him. "Or either, whichever you like." Scott's voice is clearly forced into being lighter, and he steps away from Punk. "You want something to-"

"Why are you doing this?" Punk turns to look at Scott, and watches a look of confusion cross his face. "I don't have anything to give you... Alls I have is what you see... Is that it? Do you _like_ what you see, Dr Colton?" Punk lets a sultry smile spread over his lips, and the doctor's tongue flicks out to wet his own. "You do, huh?" Punk swallows down the disappointment he can feel building in him, and steps closer to Scott. He'd hoped that the doctor would want something else, but if it's sex he wants, Punk can provide that easily enough.

"Stop." His hands rest on Punk's shoulders, keeping a good distance away. "Just stop. I'm doing this because you were... You meant something to me, Punk. You meant so very much to me, and I... I can't let you down again. I already did once, and I won't make that mistake twice." Scott looks earnestly at Punk, and Punk glances away from him, not sure what to say in response to that. "I don't want anything from you, Punkers. I never have." Scott pulls Punk into a tight hug, his hand running up Punk's back to cup his head. It's by far the most intimate moment Punk's ever had with anyone who isn't Dean, and surprisingly he finds himself returning the embrace easily, finds himself almost snuggling against the doctor. "I just want you safe. I want you happy."

"Everyone wants something." Punk murmurs, and the doctor tenses, letting Punk go. He moves away from him to stand on the other side of the kitchen, the island between them.

"I don't want anything from you." Scott says calmly, and surprising himself once more, Punk believes him.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - VKxXx92, littleone1389, Rebellecherry,**_ _ **AshJovillette**_ _ **,**_ _ **Moiself**_ _ **, and Brokenspell77.**_

 _I'm supposed to be doing a million things, what I'm actually doing is writing chapter seven of this fic..._

 **If you read, please review - even a few words truly keeps me motivated!**


	6. 06

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

The world of scurriers is one defined by being alone. Even when in a crowd of others scurriers are alone. They insulate themselves against each other for reasons Dean can't work out. It's as though the scurriers are more comfortable in their isolation. Alone is something Punk is terrified of, but alone is something Dean has often found comfort in. Alone is for some a refuge, for others it's a curse. There are some scurriers who thrive in their solitude, then there are others who need to feel like they're getting enough attention. Dean's sure Punk falls into neither of those categories, he's also sure he doesn't either, but he and Punk aren't really scurriers, not yet at least.

He's not sure where on the sliding scale of scurriers his new bosses fit. Seth seems to crave attention the way a flower craves sunlight. The entirety of Dean's first night in the club, Seth flitted around like a butterfly, mingling with the customers, _guests_ he'd called them, flirting, and making sure that everyone had a good time. Roman seems more solitary. He'd stayed near the bar, nursing a beer that he had Dean replace every time he finished it. He'd not said much of anything, but he'd stared. It had been the heavy gaze of a predatory, and Dean had felt _fidgety_ under it all night. He's pretty sure that nothing will come of it, but he'd not felt entirely comfortable with Roman's staring.

The second time he woke up after the first night of work was the first time in years Dean had woken up alone. It'd been strange not waking up with Punk beside him, or at least nearby. It'd been strange, but the little note somehow made up for that. It's a simple little scrawl, Punk's careful letters forming the words with odd precision.

 _I'll not be long, but if I'm not back before you have to go to work - I love you, and have a good night._

As he leaves for work, Dean tucks the little note into his pocket. It strangely feels like a little piece of Punk pressed against him, a little reminder of why he's in the world of the scurriers, a little tangible piece of evidence that Punk is worth scurrying for; Punk is worth enduring anything for.

"Dean? You're early... _Really_ early." Seth's leaning against the bar when Dean wanders into the club. He looks surprised to see Dean, but Dean knows why. It's not even three in the afternoon, Dean's shift starts at seven, so he's _very_ early.

"I wanted to... Is there anything I can do to help?" Dean wants them to be impressed with him, it's the sole reason he's there so early. He wants them to see him as keen, and dedicated to the club. He wants there to be no doubts about how much he needs this job. It's risky, but he thinks that both Seth and Roman are good enough people to understand without him explaining, at least he hopes they are.

"You clean toilets?" Roman appears from the door leading to the back room. "We'll pay a cleaners wage along with the bartender's one." He gestures over to the cleaning supplies beside Seth.

"I can do that." Dean pulls his coat off, sets it on the bar, and starts shoving the sleeves of his second hand sweater up. Cleaning, bar tendering, anything to make a little extra money, anything to keep Punk safe.

"Good man." Roman grins at him, and comes closer, taking Dean's coat. "We're gonna need your bank details so we can pay you." He leans a little still to Dean, and Dean finds himself utterly uncertain what to say or do.

"I don't... I mean-"

"He lives in a motel, every job on his resume has clearly been cash in hand, Ro... Dean, here is clearly... _In vulnerable housing_." Seth makes finger quotes around the last phrase, and Dean winces. "Sorry." Seth smiles awkwardly, and pats Dean's shoulder. "We'll pay you cash in hand nightly or weekly? At least till you get yourself a bank account." A grin overtakes Seth's face, and Dean feels instantly grateful to him.

"Weekly works best, I think." Roman smiles, and vanishes into the office with Dean's coat. He comes out with a box of doughnuts, and a coffee pot. "You eat yet?" He turns to Dean, a smile on his face, and Dean shakes his head. This whole situation feels awkward, but at the same time comfortable. It's strange, but Dean feels _comfortable_ around these two, at least when Roman's not _staring_ at him.

"Thank you." Dean mutters as he accepts a cup of coffee from Roman. There's a snort of dismissive amusement from Seth as he tears into his first doughnut, and Roman glances at him, a tight look on his face.

"Dean... You're _clearly_ going to be a valuable asset to us, you're keen, you're sharp-"

"You can pour drinks, you're hot, and the guests were raving about your ass all night." Seth cuts in on what Roman was saying. Roman glares at Seth, clearly unimpressed with his interruption. "What? It's true! That ass was getting rave reviews all night."

"That isn't what we do here." Roman snaps, and Dean laughs nervously. He's pretty sure that his new bosses don't need to know that he's sold his ass more times than he's had hot meals, he doesn't think that'd go over too well.

"If it was, we'd make a killing on the Ambooty." Seth spanks Dean's ass, and laughs. "You like the pun? I thought it up myself."

"No touching the merchandise." Dean mutters, winking at Seth, and carefully not looking at Roman, because he can feel the weight and heat of his gaze without looking to confirm it.

"Exactly, Seth, no touching the merchandise." Roman sounds like he's smirking, but Dean's still focussed on his coffee cup, he's in no hurry to check for smirks.

"So... Dean's on toilet duty, you're restocking the bar... What'll I do?" Seth says eventually, and Roman scoffs and cuffs the back of his head.

"This lazy asshole'll do nothing if you let him." Roman intones solemnly to Dean as he pats Seth's head gently. "You can take the money to the bank, and don't even think of fobbing it off on someone else." Seth sighs dramatically, and leaves the bar, muttering under his breath.

"Are you two dating?" The question is foolishly blurted out before Dean really finishes the thought. He thinks they might be, but they might just be really close friends.

"Me and Seth?" Roman laughs, creeping a little closer. "No... Seth and I are _friends_ , nothing more, nothing less." There's a smile on Roman's face that makes him look less threateningly leering, a smile that makes him look charming and friendly, a smile that has Dean nodding, and backing away to start cleaning the bathroom. "Are you single?" The smile doesn't waiver, and Dean freezes. His mind, and his hand, going to the note in his jeans pocket.

" _No_." He whispers, his fingers curling around the note. "No. I've got someone." Dean smiles, and a strange glint fills Roman's eyes.

" _Someone_? Man? Woman? _Both_?" He chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Man, he's a man... We've been together for a while." Dean can feel his smile growing as he thinks of the time he's spent with Punk. Their relationship hasn't always been perfect, they've had more than one fistfight, but they always make up, they always return to each other. "He's... I can't explain it." Dean shakes his head, and Roman nods slightly.

"I'm sure he's _wonderful_." He smirks, and Dean glances away. Punk is wonderful, though the tone Roman used suggests he thinks that might not be the truth, and that idea doesn't sit well with Dean.

"I should get on with cleaning." He mumbles, leaving Roman alone.

The next few days fall into the same pattern. Dean comes home a little tipsy, showers, curls up in bed with Punk, then goes to work, cleans the toilets, chats with Seth and Roman, works his bartending shift, drinks a few beers, then goes home. It's a nice little routine, but he can't help but think that it's not good for Punk. As time goes by Punk seems more and more quiet. He's always a sleep when Dean arrives home, he's often not there when Dean wakes up, and Dean has no idea where he could be. There aren't any notes giving details of his location, and Dean doubts that the doctor has time to meet with Punk on a daily basis.

The doctor is a mystery in and of himself. The day after Punk had met with him for the second time, Dean hadn't really gotten anything out of Punk, instead all Punk had said was that they had talked, but nothing very interesting had come up. Dean hadn't believed him. It was strange not believing Punk, but there was no way Dean could believe that Punk hadn't learned anything even a little interesting about himself. The other thing that had stood out about that day as Punk had a new outfit, complete with a long, thick wool coat. There's a part of Dean that's oddly _offended_ by another man buying things for Punk. It's a strange, possessive part of him that wants to wrap Punk up, and hide him away from the rest of the world. Punk is Dean's. Punk is Dean's to protect, his to provide for, his to clothe, and some other man shouldn't be buying things for what is Dean's. Only Punk is his own person, and the doctor was someone important to whom Punk was, so it's _nice_ that Punk is getting that back somewhat.

Still Dean would like to know where Punk is spending his time. Dean's time is spent at work, and if Punk were there more often Dean would tell him about it on the few hours he's in the motel room and awake. Instead, once more Dean woken up alone, and simply gone to work. After tonight, he has tomorrow off. He's no idea what Punk's planning on doing, but Dean intends to do it with him. He misses Punk, which is ridiculous because they live together, but he misses the closeness they had on the streets. It's stupid to miss being part of the homeless, but there he and Punk had been alone together. The world had been against them, and they'd had to struggle to survive, but it had been _together_. On the streets, almost all of Dean's time was spent with Punk, and he misses that closeness.

"You alright there?" Roman's voice jolts Dean from his thoughts. Dean glances up from the toilet he's scrubbing, and smiles awkwardly.

"Huh?" It's not the most intelligent answer, but Dean's not feeling too sharp at the moment. His mind is caught up with trying to work out where Punk is, and what he's been doing with his time.

"I was asking if you were okay, and clearly the answer there is no..." Roman leans against the wall, and Dean shakes his head, returning to scrubbing.

"I'm good." Dean mutters, focussing on his work.

"C'mon, what's wrong?" Roman's tone is light and friendly, the sort of tone that requests that Dean trust him, but can't quite bring himself to, as he doesn't quite trust this man.

"It's nothing." Dean glances up, and offers a slight smile to Roman. "I'm good, just looking forward to getting a day off tomorrow." He smiles, and Roman laughs loudly.

"We working you too hard?" He's smirking at Dean, his eyes crinkled in mirth, and an icy finger of dread works down Dean's back.

" _No_! Not at all. I'm just looking forward to spending a day with... With my boyfriend." Dean isn't sure if telling his boss that his lover's name is _Punk_ is a good idea. Punk doesn't sound like the name of a good respectable person, _Phil_ does, but Punk isn't Phil. Phil is gone, Phil is a mystery, and calling Punk by that name would almost be an insult to both Punk, and Phil's memory.

"So... What does your mysterious boyfriend do?" Roman seems like he's decided that he's going to try to pump Dean for information, and a part of Dean is resentful of this fact. He'd much rather be left to work in peace, but he needs to keep on his bosses' good side, and whilst with Seth that's mostly achieved by nodding sagely at his rants, with Roman how to stay in his good books is a slight conundrum.

"He was... _Sick_. He's still getting better." Dean gives up on scrubbing the toilet, and stands. "He had some infection on his back... It was..." Dean sighs heavily, and glances away. "I could have lost him."

"I'm sorry, man." Roman pats Dean's shoulder lightly. "So you need this job for him?"

" _Yeah_." Dean chances a quick glance at Roman, and fidgets under his stare. "This... It's all for him."

"You really love him, huh?" A thoughtful look flits over Roman's face, and Dean shifts uncomfortably. "Hmm, well that's good to know. _So_ , what's the plan for the first paycheque?" Dean shrugs slightly. He thinks that after the rent, he should use the rest of the money to set up a bank account, but there's a part of him that wants to lavish Punk with gifts, something that Dean's bought him, something not from the doctor.

"Rent, I guess." Dean mumbles, fussing with the handle of the toilet brush in his hand.

"You'll treat your boy to something nice?" Roman smiles, his hand resting on Dean's shoulder once more. "He's lucky to have someone who looks after him so well." Roman squeezes Dean's shoulder lightly, and looks like he's going to leave finally. "I'll let you get back to work... You should take your boy over some time. I'd like to meet him." Dean knows without a shadow of a doubt he's never taking Punk to this nightclub. It's not the sort of place Punk would like in the least, and he's not entirely certain he'd like Roman or Seth to meet him. Not because Dean's embarrassed of Punk, rather the opposite, to Dean Punk is precious, and should be treasured. He's not the sort of thing to be shown off to all and sundry, Punk is someone to be kept safe and away from those who might mean him harm. Not that there's any reason to suspect Roman or Seth of meaning Punk harm, it's just Dean would rather be safe than sorry when it comes to Punk.

That night, just before his shift Dean chances a call to the motel room. There's a part of him that's desperate to hear Punk's voice, a part that's not been indulged in what feels like weeks, but the call isn't answered, and Dean worries. The entirety of his shift he worries, sure he flirts, and he teases, and he serves more drinks than anyone else, but in the back of his mind, he worries. It feels like Punk's drifting away from him, and he's no idea how to haul Punk back to his side, back to where Punk belongs.

"One envelope, all pristine and beautiful." After the shift ends, Seth taps Dean's shoulder with a thick white envelope. It feels crass to open it, and check the money inside, so Dean manages to resist the urge. "I'm gonna need you to get a bank account sooner rather than later to make this all above board." Seth smiles awkwardly, and Dean nods, tucking the envelope into a pocket.

"I will do." Dean mutters, pulling his coat on, and winding his scarf around his neck.

"So... You've two days off... Ro was wondering if you and the other half wanted to grab lunch sometime. I mean I'll totally get it if you wanna spend your time _together_ , but I think Ro wants to check out the compet-"

"It's an offer only if you want to let us meet your boyfriend." Roman smoothly interrupts, and Dean has no idea how to react. He's sure that Seth was going to say _check out the competition_ , and he doesn't want to think on that too long. Roman's handsome in all the ways Punk isn't. Where Punk's scruffy, skinny, and a little dangerous looking, Roman is tall, refined, and elegant. Punk is fragile, delicate even, Roman is clearly solid. They're day and night to each other, and Dean's pretty sure he knows which he prefers when with all of Roman's staring.

"I'll ask him, but I was looking forward to spending some time with just him... Working is _incredible_ , but there's a part of me that misses being with him all the time." Dean smiles slightly, and pulls his gloves on. It's a fairly long walk back to the motel, and it's bitterly cold out, he needs as much protection as possible.

"Well, if his ass is as good as yours' we could hire him." Seth laughs, and Roman elbows him in the ribs lightly.

"Don't listen to him, Dean. Have a few days off with your other half. We'll see you on Wednesday." Roman ushers Seth out of the room, and then pauses at the doorway. "You know, Dean, if you want some extra... Nah, forget it. We'll see you Wednesday." Dean almost calls Roman back, but he doesn't. There'd been a gleam in Roman's eye as he'd said that, a gleam that sent shivers down Dean's spine, shivers he's not sure he liked.

The motel room is quiet and dark when Dean arrives back. It was exactly a week ago that he first came back from working at the bar. He's got his first day off tomorrow, and his first paycheque, or more accurately his first envelope of cash in his pocket. His plan is to pay the rent on the room for a few weeks, and maybe take Roman's suggestion to use the rest to buy Punk something nice. There's a large part of Dean that's still _annoyed_ that the first scurrier clothes Punk owns came from the doctor, but he will admit that the jeans accentuate Punk's thighs well, and the long wool coat shows off his waist beautifully. Still Dean had made promises of keeping Punk safe, of keeping him warm, and for the doctor to be providing even a little for Punk is galling.

"Punk?" Dean calls into the room, but there's no answer. He supposes Punk must be asleep as he always is when Dean gets back, so he heads to the shower as quietly as possible.

When he slinks into bed he expects Punk to be curled up under the covers, but there's nothing there, no warm body already asleep. The bed's empty. Dean flicks the light on, and stares around the room looking for some sign that Punk's still there. The wool coat is draped over the chair, and for a second Dean's reassured, but all of the clothes Punk had worn on the streets are gone. Dean's out of bed, and dressed before he's really processed what he's doing. He sits on the end of the bed to put his shoes back on, his mind trying to work out where the hell Punk could have gone, and he stops.

"Punk?" Curled under the desk, huddled up like he was back out sleeping on the streets is Punk, and Dean can't work out why. "Baby, what you doing under here?" Dean keeps his voice soft and low as it seems like Punk's fast asleep. For a few seconds Dean isn't sure what to do. He simply sits, and stares at the huddled, sleeping figure. Punk looks tense. He looks miserably like his dreams are anything but sweet, and Dean wants to comfort him, but he's not sure how to go about that. There has to be a reason Punk chose to sleep like this. It looks like he'd been planning on leaving, but at the last minute changed his mind, and curled up under the desk instead. Tentatively, Dean reaches out and shakes Punk's shoulder. He jolts awake, his eyes huge, and darting around the room before settling on Dean. "Whatcha doing?" Dean smiles at Punk, getting a quick shake of his head in response. "Punk..."

"Don't ask." Punk mutters, pressing his face against his knees. "Just... Sleep with me."

"Here?" Dean considers what to do, he's tired, he wants to sleep with Punk, and there's a perfectly good bed sitting there waiting for them to sleep in, but Punk seems to want to sleep where he is. "Move over." Dean clambers under the desk beside Punk.

"You working again tomorrow?" Punk mutters as he melts against Dean's side, his body warm from all the layers he's wearing.

"Punk, what were you doing?" Dean needs an answer, otherwise it'll play on his mind all night. He knows being alone is terrifying for Punk, but Dean will _always_ come back to him. There's no need to be afraid.

" _Dean_." Punk stresses his name, and Dean sighs. There won't be any answers tonight, he knows that, so he presses a kiss to Punk's shaved hair, and squeezes him tightly.

"I'm not working tomorrow. Got me a day off, and a big wedge of cash in my pocket. I'm gonna treat you to something nice." Dean tilts Punk's face up, stroking over his eyebrow.

"Treat me to a day with you." Punk mumbles, and he clears his throat. "I don't need anything but you, you know that right? This room, the bed, the running water... The _information_ I get from Col-Scott, I don't need it. Alls I need is you beside me." Punk nuzzles against Dean.

"I'm right here." Dean murmurs, his hand running down the length of Punk's back. "I ain't going anywhere, Punk... I'm right here, right beside you. I won't let you be alone." Punk doesn't answer, he does nothing more than snuggle closer, seemingly content with Dean's words.

"I'm sorry I made you sleep here last night." Punk's soft voice wakes Dean up in the morning. He sounds miserable, and Dean kisses his head lightly.

"You wanna tell me why we're sleeping under here?" Dean squeezes Punk, and indulges a grin when Punk cuddles up to him some more.

"I... I've been working." Punk mutters, and Dean frowns, tilting Punk's face up to him.

" _Working_?" He parrots back, and Punk nods, turning his face away.

"I don't want to be a burden to you... I... The money's with all the rest in the lock drawer. I... I shouldn't be in here, Dean." Punk sighs softly, his face turning down to the ground.

"What?" Dean forces Punk to face him once more.

"I don't belong in this room. I don't belong with you... You're making a go of a real life, and all I am is me... All I am is a man who sells himself to survive, a man who's only ever really known the streets-"

"You belong here. You belong with me. You're mine, Punk. _Mine_." Dean grips Punk's chin tightly, trying to impress just how much Punk belongs with Dean. "You don't have to do that anymore-"

"What else can I do? I don't have any skills, I don't know anything, I don't even have a real fucking name! I was a person once, but now I'm a fucking mess of forgotten _everything_." Punk slips from Dean's grasp, and stands. He looks furious, and Dean's a little worried this might escalate into a fight. He doesn't want to fight Punk, not on his day off, not ever really. Dean struggles out from under the desk, and holds his hands up placatingly.

"You're learning about Phil... You can't expect to remember everything-"

"I _remember nothing_!" Punk snarls, and he aims a half-hearted kick at the desk. "Scott can tell me all the shit he likes, but I'm not gonna magically remember any of it. I have to write shit fucking down... _Nothing_ stays, Dean. _Nothing!_ Do you have any idea how fucking frustrating it is to be told things about myself, and to not be able to remember them for more than five minutes if I'm lucky? Do have any idea how hard it is for me to talk to him? To kind of, sort of, but not really remember things about him? To be around this guy who was important to me, and to have absolutely _no_ fucking idea why he left me? Why anyone, _everyone_ left me?" Punk's shaking, and Dean approaches him cautiously. "Don't! Don't fucking touch me! You're going too, you know that? _Everyone_ leaves me, and I... I'm gonna make this easier for myself." Punk turns on his heel, and leaves the motel room.

"Punk! You fucking stop right there!" Dean snarls, and surprisingly Punk stops in his tracks. "I ain't gonna leave you. I'm right fucking here, and I'm always gonna be right fucking here." Dean thumps his chest with each word, his eyes narrowed, his blood pumping loudly in his ears. "I ain't going anywhere. You wanna leave. I'll be right here waiting for you. I'm tired, I'm sore, and I fucking miss you more than I can say, so get back in here, take off those clothes, and come to bed." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see the door of the next room over twitching slightly, the occupant opening it a little to hear the argument better.

"Dean..." Punk almost whines, and Dean almost goes to him, but this isn't the best way to handle this situation. In this instance, Punk needs to come to Dean, and Dean knows that.

"Come inside, come to bed, come tell me about your notes... Come lemme hold you... Lemme _touch_ you, baby... It's been _so_ long." Dean mutters, and Punk's shoulder sag, the tension in his posture seeping from him.

"I miss you." Punk mumbles finally, his shoulders drooped. He looks defeated, and Dean feels terrible for having caused him to look this way.

"I'm right here, baby. I'm _always_ right here." Dean reaches out to Punk, willing him to turn around, and feeling an overwhelming flood of relief when he does.

"I'm sorry... I'm just... I don't like being alone." Punk comes to him, and Dean engulfs him in a tight hug, smothering Punk in his embrace.

"You're not alone, Punk, you have me. Even when I'm not _with_ you, I'm still there. You're _never_ alone." Dean means those words more than he can express, he means them more than he's ever meant anything, because Punk is terrified of being alone, and if there's one thing Dean won't allow to happen, it's Punk being afraid.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - Brokenspell77, VKxXx92, littleone1389, Rebellecherry**_ _ **, and Ellis.**_

 _Things are progressing a little slowly perhaps, but they are progressing._

 **If you read, please review - even a few words truly keeps me motivated!**


	7. 07

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

The motel room is always quiet. Quiet would be fine if Punk wasn't alone, but he is, and the silence of the room becomes oppressive after a few hours, so he leaves. Scott still has Punk's clothes from the streets, and whilst Dean's thin, the clothes he's bought are generally too long for Punk to fit properly. The shirts are okay, but the pants trail on the ground slightly, so Punk has little option but to stick with the jeans Scott gave him.

The last visit to see the doctor, Punk left with far too many new things for him to feel entirely comfortable with, but the discomfort of the new clothing hadn't outweighed the discomfort Punk felt after stealing the photo of Phil and Scott. He can't say why he took it other than he wanted to. He wanted something tangible of his past, something beyond the tenancy agreement for the apartment Phil rented, something beyond his birth certificate, that he still hasn't shown Dean. He wanted something that he could stare at to try to understand the men in the photo. Scott seems pretty straightforward, but Phil's a riddle. Understanding Phil is like trying to catch clouds. He's too distant, and there's a part of Punk that's convinced that even if he were close enough he'd never be able to grasp Phil anyway. Who he was, Punk's beginning to think, will always be a mystery.

He can't really say why he started _working_ in the evenings whilst Dean's at the nightclub, well he can but he doesn't want think about the why too closely. He knows he's out there letting other men fuck him for money for the simple reason of its easy work that pays. He and Dean need money to keep the motel, and Punk has no skills, no trade, no real practical experience in anything other than selling his body. He's _never_ done anything other than that, and while it's sad and depressing, it's a fact. Punk's good at selling himself, and with the nicer clothes the clients seem more inclined to give him more money than usual, which brings him an odd sense of pride. His contribution to the ever-dwindling roll of money is meagre, but it's something. It's not something to be happy about, it's something to be deeply ashamed of, but Punk's making money, and he's helping keep them afloat in what is the only way he can. Still he doesn't want Dean to know. As much as he doesn't want Dean to know, he doesn't want Scott to know more, the idea of the doctor knowing Punk works as a prostitute makes him feel slightly sick.

Scott was Phil's friend, and there's vast part of Punk that wants the doctor as his friend too. He doesn't have friends, he has acquaintances and Dean. Dean's more than enough, but Punk feels _greedy_ when it comes to the idea of being Scott's friend, he wants it more than he can really explain, for reasons he definitely can't explain, but the longer he stares at the photo, the more he wants it. He wants to be able to smile the way Phil is in that picture. He wants the carefree happiness in Phil's eyes to be in his own. It might be an impossible to fulfil desire, but it doesn't stop Punk from wanting it.

Money isn't the real reason Punk's whoring himself out, deep down he knows that. The real reason is more depressingly honest than that. He's whoring himself out, because it's something he can control. He decides who fucks him, the how and the where, it's all Punk's decision. Everything in his life is out of his hands. Dean's working, he's away from Punk, and there's nothing to be down about it. Scott holds _all_ of the cards, every drop of information comes only one way, there's nothing equal in that relationship. Whoring gives Punk control. Then there's the fact that it stops him from being alone. It's a pathetic reason to turn to prostitution, but it's an honest one. Punk hates being alone, hates feeling lonely, because it reminds him of the hospital. On the streets, before Dean, he'd been alone by choice. If he let no one close, there would be no one to betray and abandon him. He'd been alone to spare himself the pain of being left behind again, but Dean had wormed his way in. There'd been no keeping Dean out once he'd decided to be part of Punk's life, and no matter how hard Punk had tried to keep Dean out, he'd not stayed away, so Punk had relented and let Dean in. On the streets, it'd been okay, not good by any means, but it was okay. Then Punk had gotten sick, and he'd been sure that death was waiting for him, but Dean had saved him. In saving Punk, Dean had given him Scott, who seems just as likely as Dean to become someone that Punk lets in. Both Scott and Dean have so much scope to destroy Punk, and the idea of it terrifies Punk. They could ruin him, and he'd have no defence against it.

"Love you." Dean's voice in his ear, and Dean's arms worming under him wake Punk up. He'd not been sleeping deeply. Tomorrow he gets to call Scott, and arrange another meeting, maybe even two meetings if Scott wants to deal with Punk on both of his days off. The excitement, and it is childish excitement, kept Punk from sleeping well.

"Hmm... Love you too." Punk twists in Dean's arms and smiles at the slightly drunk, and highly confused face Dean pulls.

"You're awake?" Dean mutters, one hand moving Punk's waist to stroke over his face. "I can't even remember the last time you've been awake. Fuck, you're beautiful, you know that? The most beautiful thing I've ever seen... No one compares to you... No one, not even Roman-"

"You're not comparing me to ancient civilisations' deities now?" Punk laughs, and Dean grins at him sleepily.

"You're more beautiful than Aphrodite herself... Wait that's Greek... Too tired for complicated thinking." Dean buries his face against Punk's neck, and Punk's eyes fall closed at the feeling of being nuzzled. The major thing he can't get from whoring himself out is this. Punk adores being cuddled, he loves being nuzzled against, and snuggled up with. The only person he's ever let close enough for that is Dean, and Dean's been too busy to cuddle Punk as of late.

"Get some sleep." Punk mutters softly, stroking Dean's back and hair. "I'll be out tomorrow... Gonna go see the doctor."

"It helping?" Dean mumbles, his voice slurred with on-coming sleep and residual alcohol.

"I don't know." Punk answers honestly. He's no idea if his meetings with Scott are helping. He thinks that in some ways, it's good to spend time learning about who Phil was, but in other ways, the time Punk spends with the doctor is bad for both him, and Scott. He's certain that Scott can't be getting anything worthwhile out of being around Punk, unless it's for medical research, but if Punk was just a research subject there wouldn't be the pain that occasionally blossoms in Scott's eyes when Punk does something that reminds him of Phil. It might be that spending time together is terrible for both Punk and Scott, but there's a part of Punk that hopes the opposite is true, because he doesn't want to give up spending time with the doctor.

"Scott, tell me what happened between us." Punk mutters softly. He's leafing through another stack of photos from his, _Phil's_ past, trying to remember anything of the people in them. The faces mean nothing; even _Phil's_ face is strange to him. He doesn't recognise himself without the scar, without the ring, or the wonkiness of his nose. Phil was a different man, and it's hard to reconcile the past with the present for Punk. All the time he's had on his own with Dean working has given him far too much time to think about Phil's past, and of all the things that he's dwelling on the falling out with Scott plays on his mind the most.

"I... It's..." There's a soft sigh beside him, and Punk glances over at Scott. He looks tired, ridiculously so, but it's his day off so that's understandable. Doctoring is hard work, and it's basically what he's doing on the days he should be free, sitting with Punk is essentially doctoring, in a different way to normal, but Punk's sure it should be covered under the Hippocratic oath.

"I meant something to you?" Punk watches something flit over Scott's face, something uncomfortable, something that he clearly doesn't want Punk to notice.

"I told you that." His voice is rough, an edge to it Punk's never heard from him. "I meant _something_ to you too..." He closes his eyes, and scrubs a hand over his face. "You _still_ mean something to me."

"What happened then? What happened to us?" Punk pulls the picture he stole a last visit out of his pocket, and sets it on the table. The photograph shows _Phil_ and Scott, big, happy grins turned to the camera. It's a photograph Punk's spent the last week staring at, trying to remember that moment in time. "We were happy... Why didn't we talk after we graduated College? Where were you? Why was Phil alone? What _happened_?"

"I left." Scott says simply, his head flopping back on the back of the couch so he can regard the ceiling. "Phil told me he had _feelings_ for me. I freaked out and left." Punk stares at Scott's profile, trying to remember the emotions that must have been coursing through him then, but as ever, there's nothing. The pain that Phil must have felt is gone, and Punk almost wonders if an escape from pain was the reason behind the _accident_.

"You left him?" Punk's tone is flat, but there's nothing he can do to change that. He doesn't really _feel_ anything at the revelation of Scott leaving Phil. It merely confirms to Punk that Phil wasn't a good person. No one looked for him, no one stayed with him, everyone left him. Punk's life is the result of Phil's failures.

"I didn't _leave_ him... I..." Scott sighs, and closes his eyes. "I ran away... I wasn't right for him. In all honesty I've no idea who would have been." He laughs, and Punk stares down at the most recent photo of Phil. Long, dyed black hair, a scruffy almost beard, bored apathy in his eyes, a sardonic twist to his lips. He wasn't an _unattractive_ man, not like Punk at least. Years on the streets, the broken and set wrong nose, the lip-ring, the tattoos, the shaved head all leave Punk looking intimidating, Phil had at least looked like he's listen before punching you in the face.

"He was a bad person." Punk says firmly, as he takes the photo up again, and regards it carefully. Once Phil was happy, once Phil was happy with Scott, but Scott left, and Phil was alone. By all accounts, Phil was _always_ alone, and he must have deserved that, he must have been a bad person. Beside him, Scott laughs quietly.

"No... He wasn't a bad person, Punkers... He was..." He tilts his head so that whilst it's still flopped against the back of the couch he's facing Punk. "He was a good man, just... I don't have the words for it. He was like you... But a little different..." Scott sighs once more, and Punk twists so that he's sitting sideways on the couch, staring at Scott.

"Like me?" Punk toes his shoes off, and tucks his legs up under him. "You don't _know_ me, Scott." Punk rests his elbow on the back of the couch, a lazy smirk forming on his lips. "You can't say anything about anyone being _like me_."

"I know you." A small smile spreads over Scott's lips, and Punk can feel something stir in his gut, some strange urge to let his smirk soften into a sweeter smile. "I know you better than either of us realise." Scott shakes his head, and sits up straighter, picking up the stack of photos once more. "This one... This guy here." He taps the photo, and Punk leans a little closer so he can see the picture. "That's your brother... It's the only picture of him I've ever seen, and I'm not entirely sure who the other people are." The photo shows a much younger Phil standing beside a slightly older man, his arm around Phil's shoulders. There's several other people in the picture, all grinning, all obviously friends.

"Brother?" There's an odd little part of Punk that wants to cuddle up closer to Scott, but he's sure that's solely because Dean's been away pretty much all week. He's sure that if Dean were around more Punk wouldn't be spending so much of his time feeling lonely. If Dean wasn't always working, Punk would be able to curl up by him, and he wouldn't be facing urges to snuggle with the only other person he spends any time with. What Punk needs is to learn to not expect to be coddled to so much, Dean's working so they both have somewhere to live, Dean's working for their futures, and Punk should be grateful for that.

"Brother." Scott repeats softly, and passes the photo over. "His name's Mike, and before you ask, I never met him." Scott shakes his head, and laughs. "Phil was a _compartmentalised_ person. You've always kept so many things locked up inside that pretty little head of yours... It's probably ironic that they're locked up away from you too now." Scott laughs, and Punk can feel his cheeks heating up as Scott flicks his forehead lightly.

"Hmm... Probably." Punk mutters, picking the photo of his _brother_ up. "What the fuck was Phil so afraid of? Was there anyone he didn't stop talking to?" Punk shifts so that his back is pressed against Scott's side, and holds the photo of his _brother_ up. The man in the picture looks enough like Punk to obviously be his brother, and he can't help but wonder what happened between them. He wonders if the other people in the picture where Phil's friends too, or if they were Mike's. With every drip of information of Phil's past, there comes a flood of questions, and it's becoming tiresome.

"Phil was... Punkers, do you want me to tell you what happened with Phil and his parents? You asked last week, and it's all kind of linked, or at least in the same vein." Scott says suddenly. He shifts away slightly, and Punk has to catch himself so he doesn't flop backwards into Scott more.

"Do I?" Punk mutters shifting closer to Scott again, pressing himself against him once more. He can't say why, but he has the feeling this story will be easier to hear with some human contact.

"I can't... I don't know. Do you?" Scott seems uncertain what to do with himself. He feels tense beneath Punk. He thinks he should move away, but he doesn't want to break the contact, he needs someone close to him, he needs the reassurance another person's presence gives him. Punk glances up at the ceiling, and nods. He wants to know the story of Phil and his parents. He wants to know as many stories as Scott can tell him, no matter how upsetting they are, Punk needs to hear them, and even if they are upsetting, that hurt will be mitigated by the comfort offered by being pressed against Scott's side.

"Tell me." Punk mumbles, and Scott takes a deep breath. He fidgets a little, and then relaxes, settling more comfortably against the back of the couch, letting Punk slump against him some more.

"The full story... Well, Phil was never big on full stories, so I can't really give you that." Scott laughs quietly, and Punk snorts. He's still staring at the picture of Phil's brother, still wondering about the other people in the picture with him. "But the way I heard it, there was an argument, something about money." Scott sighs, and Punk shifts so he can see Scott's face. "Your father wasn't great with money. He was an alcoholic, spent most of what he had on beer. Your mother never worked, a stay-at-home mom. Phil wanted to go to college, they didn't have the money for it, so he... Phil was a volatile man." It sounds like Scott's being diplomatic with that description, in all honesty, it sounds like Phil was an ill-tempered asshole most of the time. "He never felt like they cared all that much about him, and really I don't think that they did. I don't think it was spite, or malice on their part, just that they were people who probably shouldn't have had kids. Your brother... Mike... You had a falling out, again over money. It always sounded like Phil and he were kind of similar... _Too_ similar probably."

"Phil was kind of fixated on money, huh? He fought with everyone over it?" Punk asks easily, and Scott chuckles.

"He never had any money growing up... So he was always frugal. I was surprised when I saw this place to be honest. It's not the sort of place I could see Phil spending money on." Scott trails off, and he moves so that his back's braced against the arm of the couch. "Phil's parents never contacted him. He never contacted them, not once all through college. He didn't like to talk about them. He told me all this one night while we were studying for this big exam. He didn't hate them. Sure, he didn't care about them, but he didn't hate them. I don't think he ever really _hated_ anyone... It was always like he just moved on. If he wasn't getting what he needed from someone, he'd find it elsewhere. No hate, no resentment, just accepting that these aren't the people he needs, and going to find the people he does."

"Sounds like a good system." Punk mutters, his back still turned to Scott.

"Pragmatic." Scott's hand rests on Punk's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You've always been a pragmatic man, Punkers." Punk closes his eyes, and wills the slight heat trickling through him away. That nickname, Scott's touch, it's too much for him, but at the same time not quite enough. "So... You want some tea?" Scott stands, and Punk takes a deep breath in through his nose. He should leave. This conversation, the way he feels so comfortable around Scott, the touches between them, these aren't things he should be indulging. He should be at home, but the motel room will be empty, Dean'll be at work, and Punk can't stand the idea of spending anymore time alone. He's so tired of being alone, being abandoned.

"Sounds good." Punk scoops the stack of photos up, and trails along behind Scott, sparing a glance for the living room ceiling. Phil might have been pragmatic, but he was also a damned mystery, and even if Punk's learnt more about him, he's no closer to solving the mystery.

"You know." Scott sounds puzzled as he sips at his tea, and Punk glances up from the cookie he was nibbling at to look at Scott. "I have absolutely no idea how Phil paid for college." There's a concerned look on Scott's face, a tightly worried expression that has Punk returning it.

"He never told you?" Phil kept secrets it seems, far too many secrets, and Punk's no idea how to fully unravel the enigma that was Phil.

"No... And I never thought of it until now... _How_ the fuck did you pay for college, Punkers?" Scott's staring at Punk, but in that moment Punk has no doubts that it's not _him_ Scott's seeing. The doctor is staring the past in the eye and trying to understand just what it was doing.

"Phil was a mystery?" Punk shrugs, and Scott scowls. "You were best friends, but he kept secrets, it happens." Punk smiles slightly, and Scott's scowl deepens.

"Punk... He... We... I can't explain it." Scott scrubs a hand over his face, and sighs.

"Did you fuck him?" Punk asks harshly, and Scott barks a surprised laugh.

"No." His scowl is replaced with a broad smile, and Punk narrows his eyes slightly.

"Did he fuck you?" The rephrased question has Scott laughing once more, and Punk almost bristles on behalf of his former self.

"There was no _fucking_ , Punk. We never had sex." Scott takes a drink from his tea, and a frown slowly forms on his lips. He's clearly getting lost in trawling through his memories trying to find _anything_ about how Phil paid for college. "Before you ask, the most that ever happened was a kiss." Scott says suddenly, cutting off the next few questions Punk was formulating in his mind.

"You _kissed_ me?" Phil stares at Scott, at the blank look on his face, and feels like he's said something stupid once more, but what Punk isn't sure.

"Phil... I kissed Phil." Scott says firmly, and Punk shifts his gaze to his cup quickly. Scott kissed _Phil_ , not Punk. It's usually so easy to keep a hold of the difference between the two, but clearly at the thought of kissing Punk had let that differentiation slide.

"Was he a good kisser?" Punk's smile and tone feel like they're on the wrong side of flirtatious, and Scott shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "That good, huh?"

"Stop." Scott sounds like he's trying to sound firm, but really he just sounds pained, and a little upset. "This is..." He sighs heavily, and takes a drink from his cup. "Is anything I've told you sticking?"

"Not really... I... Little things, little scraps of information stick. I write it all down." There's a heavy pause, and Scott nods slightly.

"I wish I could fix you." He says eventually, and Punk glances away. He almost wishes the doctor could fix him too, but if he was fixed, he wouldn't be himself anymore.

"I don't know if I do... I don't think I want to be Phil again." Punk mumbles, taking up his cup, and finishing the too hot liquid too quickly. He can feel it scalding its way down his throat.

"I... I don't think you could be him again, Punk." An odd look flicks over Scott's face, something almost sad, and Punk can't think of anything to say in response to that. He stands, and makes a move towards the front door. "You're leaving?"

"I think I've taken up enough of your time." Punk forces a smile to his face, and Scott looks torn. Torn over what Punk isn't sure, and he's not sure he should ask because Scott might tell him, and Punk has the distinct feeling he wouldn't much like the answer.

"Wait here, I'll get your things. I fixed up the holes, and... Well they're as close to new as I could get them." Scott heads to the laundry room, and Punk leans against the doorframe, staring up at the ceiling. Phil isn't just a mystery now, he was a mystery then too, and Punk can't even begin to understand what he was so afraid of. There had to be something, something he didn't want other people to know, something dark, something ominous, something _bad_. Phil wasn't a good person; if he were, people wouldn't have left him so easily. Scott returns quickly, holding a bag of Punk's things.

"Colt?" Punk starts, and then the rest of the words he wanted die in his throat, and he can't remember how he wanted to proceed with that statement.

"Punk... Can you not? Can you _please_ not call me that?" Scott's voice is soft, so soft and small, but so _heavy_ with pain.

"Call you what?" Punk steps forward, he intended to take the bag, but what he does is pull Scott into a hug, his arms wrapping around Scott tightly, and he tucks his head under Scott's chin.

" _Colt_... It's-"

"You call me _Punkers_." Punk mumbles, his eyes falling closed when Scott's arms wrap around him just as tight. "I meant something to you. You meant something to me... I _mean_ something to you, and you mean something to me, but I don't know what."

"The past, Punk... It's all the past." Scott's arms squeeze Punk tightly, his scent filling Punk's senses.

"I don't have a past. I don't have a future... Alls I have is _now_." Punk thinks he should stop nuzzling against Scott so he pulls back slightly, pausing when he sees Scott's face. They're close, _far_ too close, but that doesn't feel like a problem in that moment. Right then it feels perfectly _normal_ to be pressed against Scott like this. "You loved him? You had feelings for him, so why did you run?"

"I... It wasn't the right time. He... He'd knocked me back so many times, and then I was leaving, and he said _everything_ I needed to, _wanted_ to hear, and I couldn't... I just couldn't, Punkers. It wasn't fair to you. It wasn't fair to us... It was the wrong time, but fuck... There's so much I should have done differently, _so_ much." Scott's hands come to rest on Punk's cheeks, framing his face gently, and Punk can feel his lungs aching as they try to get enough oxygen. Scott's eyes are boring into Punk's, his attention rapt with Punk's face. "I'm sorry, Punkers... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry for..."

"What?" Punk prompts, and whatever the moment was is lost. Scott clears his throat lightly, and tries to step away, but Punk clings to him. "You left me once, Colt. Don't leave me again." Punk's voice is a pitiful bleat of sound, a miserably plaintive whisper, and Scott relents. He pulls Punk close once more, holding him tightly. They stand in silence for what feels like an incredibly long, but also incredibly short time, Punk revelling in being held, as Scott slowly strokes the back of his head. As they stand there, Punk wonders if this was how Phil felt when Scott held him, if he felt this wrapped up and safe in Scott's arms. Punk thinks, from the little he's learnt of Phil, feeling this way would terrify him, but afraid is the one thing this doesn't make Punk feel.

"Do you want a ride back to where you're staying?" Scott asks eventually, and Punk almost doesn't answer. There's a part of him that's hoping if he's quiet Scott won't ask again, and he'll get to stay pressed against the doctor. Once he leaves the circle of Scott's arms, he'll have to go back to the motel room, and he knows that he'll end up pacing it for a while before going back out to turn some tricks again. He's not something Scott needs in his life, but Scott doesn't know that, and as long as he keeps a hold of Punk, he won't know that, but then there's Dean. A chill runs down Punk's spine, and he pulls away from Scott. He's standing embracing another man whilst his lover is probably getting ready to work. Punk doesn't deserve this, and Dean certainly doesn't deserve to be lumbered with Punk. "Punkers?"

"I... I should go." Punk can't meet Scott's eyes, can't bring himself to look at him. He'd wanted a friend out of Scott, and he's probably pushed too far, come on too strong, and too fast.

"Punk?" Scott's hand tilts Punk's chin up, forcing him to meet Scott's eyes. "Do you want me to take you home?" He slowly, firmly, trying to impress that this is more than an offer to take Punk back to the motel. That simple question is also _are you sure you want to keep talking to me, doesn't this hurt you too much?_ Punk nods slightly, then clears his throat.

"Yeah. I'd love a ride back to my motel, Scott." It hurts, but Punk needs this, and he'll keep visiting Scott until the doctor leaves him again.

The ride back to the motel is silent expect for Punk giving occasional directions. There's some kind of unrealised energy hanging between him and the doctor, and Punk has no idea how to break it. It doesn't feel _tense_ , but it's not relaxed, and he'd like for it to be relaxed. There shouldn't be this strange unrealised potential between friends, and what Punk wants is friendship.

"Why did we become friends?" He asks as they pull up outside the motel. Scott glances over at him, and chuckles softly.

"Why? Sheesh, that's a question." A grin forms on his lips, and Punk can feel an unexpected heat creep up the back of his neck. "I guess because we were living together." Scott looks unsatisfied with his answer, and a frown slowly forms on his lips. "I wanted to be Phil's friend... He was cool, and funny, and charming, and beau- He was an interesting guy." Scott finishes awkwardly, turning to stare out the windscreen, and Punk can feel his cheeks burning. _Beautiful_. Scott had almost called him, _Phil_ , beautiful, and Punk feels a little flustered at that.

"Phil was interesting, but not me?" Punk instantly regrets asking that, instantly regrets the teasing tone he'd asked it in.

"You're plenty interesting." Scott mutters, and turns back to Punk. "You want a hand taking your stuff to your room?"

"Nah... I'll manage." The smile that rests on Punk's lips feels surprisingly genuine, and he's grateful for that. It feels like the odd energy between them is dormant for now, and it's a relief.

"I've got tomorrow off too if you wanna... I mean... If you want-"

"I don't want to take up all your time. You'll get sick of me pretty quickly, Scott." Scott laughs at Punk's words, his fingers twitching nervously on the steering wheel.

"Gimme a call, I'll treat you to lunch." The smile that spreads over Scott's lips draws one over Punk's, and he nods.

"Alright, but whoever you're dating's gonna be pissed that you keep running off with some homeless guy." Punk laughs, and Scott shakes his head.

"I'm not seeing anyone." He mumbles, and Punk laughs nervously. He'd meant it as a throwaway comment, but it's genuinely the first real piece of information he's gotten about Scott himself.

"You're not? Why? I mean you're a good-looking guy, you're ridiculously kind, and you've got an amazing apartment, a great job-"

"Which leaves me with no time to go looking for someone to date. My choices are either patients or staff, and experience has taught me to not shit where I eat." Scott cuts in, and Punk feels like an idiot. He should have realised that being a doctor is too time consuming to have time for dating. "You sure you'll manage? You look pale." The back of Scott's hand presses against Punk's forehead, gauging his temperature. "You should lie down... Have you been pushing yourself? You're still healing, Punkers. You need to be careful with yourself."

"I-" Punk cuts himself off, he'd felt the truth of what he's been doing with his nights on the tip of his tongue, and he's nowhere near ready to spill all of the _secrets_ of his life out to Scott.

"Your boyfriend's looking after you... Stop. I know what're you're doing, and I know it's for complicated reasons that are more than just money, but it's not helping, not even with that." Scott says softly, his hand twists, and a finger trails over Punk's eyebrow gently. "You're only hurting yourself... It's a habit you've not forgotten, unfortunately." He sighs softly, and Punk can feel his eyes drift closed under Scott's careful touches. As gently as Dean touches him sometimes, it's never quite with this much reverence, never quite like Punk is made of smoke and too much pressure could destroy him. "You were _always_ a masochist, always trying to keep everything hidden, and most of the time it worked, but you can never hide how much things are hurting you... You could _never_ hide that from me." Scott's hand cups Punk's cheek for a second before he withdraws it. "That's why I ran, that's why I left you, Punkers... You were hurt, you were scared, and I _knew_ that with my starting work I wouldn't have time to make it better. I had to choose, my career or you, and I chose my job." Punk opens his eyes to look at the doctor, seeing the utter misery in his eyes. "I've never regretted anything more than leaving you that day... I've never been more scared in my life than when I got the call from the hospital that you'd left. They... They told me when you were admitted, when you woke up from your coma... I _tried_ , I tried so hard to get time off to see you, but I was still so new, still too junior to be able to get enough time. In the end, I put in for a transfer, but by the time it cleared, you'd vanished. I looked, Punkers... I looked so hard, but I couldn't find you-"

"I was scared, Colt... There was no one there, I didn't know anything, I couldn't remember, and I was alone... _So_ scared." The fear from the hospital fills Punk, his lungs don't seem capable of drawing enough air, his heart can't beat fast enough to get his blood where it needs to be, his eyes can't keep their tears back.

"I'm sorry." Scott whispers, and pulls Punk into a hug that's awkward, and uncomfortable, but completely what Punk needs in that moment. He can't remember the last time he's broken down like this, but it feels cathartic. Scott's hands move slowly over Punk's back as he sobs, Scott's voice murmurs quiet reassurances into his ears, soft words that erode the fear and loneliness in Punk like time erodes cliff faces. When the sobs die down, Punk doesn't move. He's certain he couldn't move even if he wanted to, pressed against Scott he feels contentedly safe, and it's a sanctuary he doesn't want to leave, but Scott will need to go home. He has his own life to attend to, and Punk has his empty motel room to keep vigil in.

Punk leads Scott up to the room he shares with Dean, and feels even grubbier than usual. This is the place Dean's working so hard to keep for them, and Punk's standing outside of it with another man, he feels some kind of warm _tingle_ in the pit of his stomach over. It feels like he's betraying Dean in some way, some strange fundamental way that makes him feel awful.

"I'll call you, okay?" Punk mutters, as he slides the key into the lock, holding his spare hand out for the bag of his clothes.

"I'll be waiting." There's a note in Scott's voice, a hint that if Punk doesn't call Scott will come and find him. It's a tone that makes a spark of fire burn in Punk's gut, and it makes him feel miserable because it makes him think of Dean. Punk nods tightly, not turning to look at the doctor. He's embarrassed himself enough around Scott today, he doesn't need to do or say anything else stupid or needy. "Later." Scott mutters, setting the bag at Punk's feet, and taking Punk's outstretched hand. He squeezes it lightly, and turns to leave the hallway.

"I'll call tomorrow, Colt... I'll write it down so I remember." Punk calls, getting a nod and a soft good for his comment.

The motel room is unsurprisingly empty; Dean's already left for work. The first thing Punk does is scrawl everything he can remember about the afternoon down. Every word, every thought, every feeling that has clung to his mind, Punk captures on paper, and when he's done he feels drained. Once he's written, Punk throws himself to the bed, and he lies staring up at the ceiling, trying to understand the emotions burning in his gut. There's a twisted mess of tangled feelings in his brain that he can't grasp or understand, a mass of half-connected emotions that leave him unable to actually _feel_ anything.

He can't say how long he lies there, but eventually Punk moves. He strips the clothes Scott gave him last week off, and starts pulling on his own clothes. They smell nicer than when he first got them, they look in much better repair too, Scott did a good job with them, and Punk feels bitingly guilty for some reason he can't pin down. Once he's dressed, Punk feels more like himself. He feels like the outside matches the inside of him once more. Dressed in the nice clothes Scott gave him, Punk felt like a fraud. He's not someone who can wear things like that, he's someone who is clearly from the streets, someone who's exterior should match the grimy interior. His eyes fall to the coat Dean had always worn on the streets, and something leaden settles in Punk's stomach. He's holding Dean back. If it wasn't for Punk, Dean would have worked his way out of this mess long ago, he's sure of it. If it wasn't for Punk, Dean would never have been on the streets for so long. Now he's got a job, he's got a roof over his head, but he _loves_ Punk. Foolishly, desperately, utterly loves Punk, and now more than ever Punk can't work out why. Dean's working so hard, and so long for a man who whores himself out, who spent most of the day flirting with someone who's only trying to help. Neither Dean, nor Scott need Punk in their lives.

Punk forces his feet back into his boots, and laces them tightly. He should leave, he should just go, leave them both to get on with their lives, and forget about him. He's _certain_ he won't forget either of them, but his memory is terrible, and with time they might fade into the white noise that makes up most of Punk's memories. He's pulling on his coat when the phone rings. He knows its Dean, is completely and utterly certain it's Dean, and Punk's paralysed with indecision. Leaving is for the best. Even this half-life isn't what Punk deserves, but he adores it all the same. He loves Dean, loves him more than there are words to say, he's growing unfathomably fond of spending time with Scott, he doesn't want to lose either of them, but he's not good enough for them. Phil was a terrible person, and Punk must reap the crop Phil sowed. Only Phil might not have been terrible, Scott liked him, Scott _loved_ him, so he can't have been all that bad.

Punk has no idea why he'd chosen to sleep under the desk come the morning, and even less idea why Dean chose to sleep there with him. He has the suspicion he'd been seeking refuge from his circular, and painful thoughts, but Dean's motivation is a mystery. Their argument, if it could be called an argument, and not just Dean calling him on his stupidity, had felt pointless. Dean had told him what he wanted, and _needed_ to hear, but all Punk can think of his the little white lie he'd told. He knows why Scott left Phil, he knows, it's stuck with him from the moment he'd heard it. Even before the accident, even before Punk existed, Phil had secrets. Phil was nothing but secrets, and he was afraid of them. He was afraid, and Scott couldn't look after him, so he left. He left Phil, presumably, thinking that Phil would find someone to help him, because that was Phil's modus operandi; if he couldn't get what he needed from one person, he'd find another who'd provide for him. Only it seems Scott had underestimated how much Phil believed he was the one who could help, because Punk's certain that there was no one filling in for Scott. Punk's sure that once Scott left things fell apart for Phil, even if Punk has no evidence of this, he's sure of it.

"So... Will you tell me anything about Phil?" Dean's voice cuts through Punk's thoughts. It's as soft as the strokes Dean's been giving his skin, a gentle caress of words to match the gentle caresses of Dean's hands.

"I... I know how old I am." Punk mutters, and Dean nods, his arms tightening around Punk. "I used to rent an apartment downtown... It's big, expensive looking. Either I had money or a sugar daddy." Punk laughs, and Dean rolls over, pulling Punk with him. Punk rearranges himself so he's braced over Dean, resting on his elbows. "And today, well today, I found out I've got a brother. We look super alike, and Colt says that he thinks we're super similar personality-wise, but he's never met Mike, that's my brother. I don't know where he is, and I don't think he'd wanna see me, though I'd like to see him, cause we fell out somehow. It's like my parents, I found out about them last week. I've got my birth certificate in my pocket. It's that insane? I've got a birth certificate. I wonder if I could drive. I wonder if there's a driver's license with my face on it. Oh! I saw my signature too... I _must_ have had a bank account... I should ask Colt, but will he know? He might, but I don't- I'll ask. Where was I? My parents? They're still around as far as Colt knows, but _again_ we fell out. Colt's not sure on the reasons, but I think I was a bastard, an ill-tempered bastard who liked to argue. Colt says I'm pragmatic, but I'm sticking with bastard. I wish I knew what happened with my family, Colt says he doesn't know, but I think he'll help me find out, but I don't wanna keep bothering him, but I dunno. Oh! Colt! I keep talking about him, but not saying anything about him. We were friends. Good friends, _best_ friends, I think we might still be friends, I hope we're still friends, cause I'd like a friend. I mean I've got you, and I love you, and I _know_ you love me, but I don't know if we're _friends_. I don't think you have to be someone's friend to be their lover, do you? I don't think so... Blah-blah-blah. _So_ me and Colt-"

"You gonna breathe at all, Punk?" Dean interrupts with a laugh, and a blush rushes to Punk's cheeks. "It sounds like you and the good doctor Colton have been bonding pretty well... And you idiot, _of course_ we're friends. I love you, love you _so_ much, but I still _like_ you." Dean kisses Punk softly; his hands cradle Punk's face carefully, his eyes running over Punk's features like he can't decide where to look first. "You know... You didn't say Phil once." Punk's eyes widen at Dean's comment. He hadn't separated Phil from himself; it'd been _I_ all the time. Slowly but surely he's accepting that _Phil_ is _Punk_. "One thing though, who's Colt?"

"Colt? Uh... That's Scott... The doctor." Punk hadn't even realised he'd called Scott _Colt_.

"You got a pet name for him already, huh? Should I be worried?" Dean laughs, and Punk shakes his head slowly. Dean doesn't need to worry about Scott. Punk loves Dean, loves him wholly and completely. Even if he likes the doctor, it's nothing like his feelings Dean, but he does like Scott. He likes the little burn of fire in his stomach when Scott touches him, likes the strange energy between them, likes the unexpected comfort he feels beside him. There's a part of Punk that would like to remember how Phil felt about Scott, a foolish little part that'd like to compare his feelings for Dean with Phil's for Scott.

"You don't need to worry about anyone stealing me away, Dean." Punk laughs, and Dean stares up at him thoughtfully.

"Why are you working?" The tone the question's given is quietly sad, and Punk wishes Dean hadn't asked. He has answers, but they're not _good_ answers.

"I don't want to burden you-"

"You're _mine_." Dean whispers fiercely. "You're... I want to look after you, Punk. I want to provide for you... Buy you things, keep you safe..." Dean closes his eyes, and pulls Punk down against his chest.

"I know, but I... I'm _bored_? I guess that's close enough... There's nothing for me to do, there's only me, and my notes... I get _caught_ in a cycle of reading them over, and over hoping that something'll just click into place, and it doesn't, so I get frustrated." Punk sighs, and squirms so he's lying beside Dean rather than on top of him. "I'll find something else to do... I'll apply to places-"

"You're still healing. Rest, get stronger, _then_ we'll find you something." Dean interrupts, and Punk's reminded of Scott saying basically the same thing to him yesterday. "You never know, maybe your doctor can tell you what Phil used to do."

"Or give me my old sugar daddy's number." Punk laughs, and Dean smiles at him indulgently. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dean looks surprised, and Punk smiles at him softly. His hands tangle in Dean's hair, and Punk pulls him into a kiss. The sort of kiss that builds from gentle and slow to fast and hard. The sort of kiss that leaves Punk pinned to the bed by a smirking Dean. The sort of kiss they've not had in _months_.

"For far too much, and not enough." Punk grins, and Dean narrows his eyes at him.

"You trying to be all mysterious, baby?" Dean teases, nipping at Punk's throat. "I like it... You know how much I like riddles."

"Hmm... I've a riddle for you." Punk moans, as Dean's hands slide down Punk's body to card through his pubic hair. "What's been empty for far too long?"

"You wanna have sex, Punk?" Dean smirks, and Punk grins back. He's missed Dean inside of him. That might be last reason he was out _working_. He's missed feeling desired, and it seems like Dean's _finally_ going to give him what he wants.

"Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - Rebellecherry, Brokenspell77, roksand, Guest, littleone1389**_ _ **, and VKxXx92.**_

 _So hopefully you'll not be too mad at the cutting out of the smut this time around, but this chapter was already long... I know I don't usually do this, but, next chapter will see our happy couple spending some time with one of the two potential threats to their relationship, so stay tuned(? it's not really tuned is it? This is reading... please stay invested to read the next chapter, I guess is more accurate but more cumbersome.)_

 **If you read all the way down here, please review - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	8. 08

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

Honesty is important, though scurriers don't employ it as often as they should. Scurriers tell each other lies constantly. Big lies, little lies, white lies, lies of omission; avoiding the truth is their speciality. It's something Dean has always been disdainful of, and has never let anyone get away with. If you lie to Dean, he'll know and the consequences are harsh, but as he lies stroking down Punk's back, feeling sated, he can't help but feel like he's being lied to. He's not sure why, but he's certain Punk's not telling him the _whole_ truth of his meetings with the doctor, or why he's out working. There's always been honesty between them, never has there been even the slightest hint of deception, but Dean can't shake the feeling that Punk's _omitting_ something. He can't work out how to bring it up, not when Punk's softly nuzzling at his neck, and placing little nipping bites along it, but he can't let this sit between them too long. Omissions, little, or white lies are fine for scurriers, but they're not part of that. Dean might have a job, they might have a place to stay, but they're homeless. Even with a roof over their heads, they know the struggle of the streets, and they know the necessity of full disclosure between them.

" _So_..." Punk shifts so he's lying beside Dean, his hand running through Dean's chest hair slowly. "What's on the cards for today?"

" _Today_? Hmm... I dunno. I could go round two." Dean grins, and Punk smiles at him lazily, then a briefly panicked look crosses his face.

"I need to call Scott." He mutters, flopping onto his back. "He's two days off this week, and I said I'd call today."

"You two seem _close_." Dean shifts so he's braced over Punk, their faces close together.

"You don't need to worry about him." Punk mutters offhandedly, one of his hands tangle in Dean's hair, pulling him down for a kiss. "But, I should call." Punk glances away, and licks at his lip ring, the little loop flicking from side to side quickly.

"You gonna go see him today?" Dean asks, and instantly feels stupid. The look that flitted over Punk's face makes it very clear that he would like to spend more time with the doctor, and Dean can't really blame Punk. This is the only way for him to find out who he was, and Dean has no right to deny him that knowledge.

"You could come." Punk offers with a smile. There's a lot of Dean that wants to say no, a lot of him that wants to let Punk have his time with the doctor alone, but there's a far bigger part of him that's uncomfortable with another man being able to _give_ Punk so much.

"Yeah... Alright, I'd love to come." Dean smiles, and Punk beams back at him. Dean honestly can't remember the last time Punk looked so happy about anything, and it's strangely gratifying to see.

"Cool, I'll call Colt, and see what he thinks." Punk leans up and pecks Dean on the nose, the grin on his lips not moving. "Thank you... I...I want you two to get on. I love you, and he's my friend. I want you to be friends too." Punk smiles, and Dean nods awkwardly. He's not looking to make friends with the doctor; this is nothing more than reconnaissance. He's meeting this doctor to see what he is to Punk. It's dangerously close to a lie, and Dean feels grubby for it.

"I'm gonna take a shower." Dean mutters, and slips out of the bed. As he's about to close the bathroom door, the cell phone tossed carelessly onto of the table they'd slept under last night chirps.

 _Meet me at the diner across from the club. - Roman Reigns_

Dean stares at the text, and sighs, tossing the phone over to Punk.

"Send him a message back, and ask him what time, okay?" Punk stares down at the cell thoughtfully, his eyebrows knit.

"Who's Roman?" He starts typing, and Dean finds himself staring at the slightly odd sight of Punk holding the little machine as carefully as he'd hold a bomb.

"He's one of my bosses-"

"Bosses?" Punk mutters, his attention still caught by the phone. "Is _what time will I meet you_ okay?" He finally glances up, and Dean loses a fight with a laugh. There's a strangely proud look on Punk's face, and it's entirely far more than Dean can handle without laughing. "What?"

"Nothing..." Dean walks back over to the bed, and kisses Punk lightly. He eases Punk to his back once more, the desire to shower forgotten in the face of indulging in Punk again. Dean's hands are stroking down Punk's sides when another chirp comes from the cell, shrilly destroying the moment. Punk glances at it with lazy irritation, grabs the phone, reads the message, then he gazes up at Dean blankly.

"Eleven sharp, dress nice." Punk repeats the message coolly, and Dean groans, burying his face against the side of Punk's neck. "Your boss wants to see you in about an hour... You better get a move on." Punk squirms beneath him, and Dean grumbles slightly, nuzzling against Punk's skin, earning soft moans for it. "C'mon... You don't wanna make him angry."

"Yeah, yeah... I'm going. You're gonna have to see your friend on your own." Dean mutters, stroking over the scar on Punk's forehead. The statement is a truth, but the tone it's given in is a lie. He's not happy about Punk spending more time with this doctor he doesn't know. He's not happy that this doctor has a cutesy nickname. He's not happy that Punk seems delighted with the prospect of seeing his _Colt_ again. He's not happy that the doctor buys Punk things, that the doctor gives Punk things that Dean _never_ could. Memories, information, little shreds of evidence like the birth certificate, these are things Dean could never give Punk, and he's not happy about it, but that tone is wryly cheerful, and the smile he forces to his lips is as well.

Whilst Dean showers, he can hear Punk talking to the doctor, can hear him laughing at whatever it is they're talking about, and something ugly settles in the pit of his stomach. Punk isn't a real person. He's a lot of things, but _real_ isn't one of them. Punk is the shell of a real person, he's the afterimage of a real person, he's a lie, and this doctor is giving him the truth. Piece by piece, Punk's slowly learning who he really is, and there's nothing Dean can do but watch him find out.

"You've all day tomorrow off, right?" Punk slips into the shower with him, and Dean wraps his arms around him tightly.

"I miss you... _Fuck_ , but I miss you. Tomorrow, I'm not letting you go. The rest of the world can fuck off, cause I'm spending the day with you. I wanna buy you some pants, I wanna buy you shirts, and ice cream, and a nice notebook for your information, and-"

"Alls I want is a day with you." Punk interrupts, a smile on his lips as he rests his forehead against Dean's shoulder. "I don't want things, Dean... How many times do I have to say it? Alls I want is you."

"I'm not en-"

"You're more than enough, you idiot... You're more than I deserve, _so_ much more." The smile on Punk's lips is false, the look in his eyes makes it a blatant lie, but Dean can't bring himself to argue with him.

"Well... Don't blame me if you get bored tomorrow." Dean laughs, and pulls Punk in for a kiss. He's not sure what Punk was lying to him about, but Dean's pretty certain it all comes down to Punk's self-esteem. They need to talk about it, they need to make Punk realise that he is the entirety of the reason Dean is doing this. If it wasn't for Punk, Dean would have fallen into old bad habits long ago. Punk is why Dean's where he is, and without Punk Dean's sure he'd be in prison or dead. Punk can doubt his worth as much as he likes, but it won't change the fact that he's invaluable and irreplaceable to Dean.

"Hey Dean..." Roman smiles slightly, and Dean glances up from his cup of coffee. He'd been caught in staring at the picture in the foam. Never in his life has he seen a more pointless waste of art. It was nice, but the leaf did nothing to hide the truth that the coffee is over-priced, overly-sweet, and not all that good.

"Hmm?" He offers his boss a slight smile, getting a wider grin from Roman.

"I... You wanna come to dinner tonight?" Dean shrugs in response to Roman's question. He'd blown off going to see the doctor because he'd thought this would be work related, but it seems that Roman is only interested in him. Instead of being in this diner, he could have been monitoring Punk's interactions with the doctor, he could have been sizing up the competition, because the doctor is competition. Punk might tell him he doesn't need to worry about anyone stealing Punk's heart away, but there's no way that Punk can't be feeling _something_ towards the doctor. Gratitude can turn to desire very quickly, and Dean's not entirely happy about Punk meeting with the doctor alone all the time. He's very probably jealous, and there's a part of Dean that is slowly convincing himself of reasons to be jealous. The doctor is the key to Punk's past, and Dean's spent years trying to fulfil that role, as much as he's jealous of the potential of what might have been between Punk and the doctor, there's just as much of Dean's that's jealous the doctor already knows who Punk was. They're both mildly stupid reasons to be jealous of the doctor, but Dean can't really help the way he feels about it all.

"Will Seth be coming? I'm sure my boyfriend would like to meet you both." Dean smiles awkwardly, ignoring the slight grimace that flits over Roman's face at the mention of _boyfriend_. He's not entirely sure he wants Punk to meet either of these two, but he supposes it's fairly important to let Punk know the people in Dean's life, especially if Dean wants to meet the doctor properly. They both have their own little side lives away from each other, but Dean wants to be a part of every aspect of Punk's life, so that means letting him be a part of every part of Dean's life.

"Sure, all four of us." Roman sounds far less happy, but Dean feels like a weight's been lifted from his shoulders, with Punk _and_ Seth there, Roman will have other people to _look_ at. He's not comfortable with the way Roman stares at him like a starved lion stares at a gazelle. He's seen the look in the eyes of customers who'd not take no for an answer when he'd been whoring. Those people are the kind of people who have no problem bashing you over the head, or slipping drugs into your drink.

"Great! So where'll we meet you?" Dean takes a drink from his coffee, feeling far more content with it as when he glances back down at the foam, the pretentious little leaf has been destroyed. It looks like the too expensive, too sweet, not that good coffee it is, a little glimmer of honesty in what was a moment of scurrier duplicity.

"There's a place near the club... A little Italian place _Joey's_ I think it's called." Roman's smile is slightly less awkward, and Dean finds himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He knows that restaurant, and knows it well, because he and Punk helped the owner move shipments into the storeroom many times when they were on the streets. "Around six?"

"Yeah... Six should be fine." Dean finishes his coffee, and sits back in his chair. "The food's pretty good there." Dean knows it's pretty good a few hours old, so he can only imagine how good it is when it's freshly cooked to order. He'll have to grab something nice for Punk to wear, something that isn't the one nice sweater and pair of jeans he owns. It won't be much, but it'll be something that Dean's given him, and Dean's grimly aware he'll feel far too pleased seeing Punk dressed in clothes he's bought.

When Dean gets back to the motel room, with a bag of decent clothes from a thrift store, it's empty, and he ends up lying on the bed watching TV, waiting for Punk.

"We'll work something out, Punkers." Dean sits up at the sound of the voice from the other side of the door.

"Yeah... Well, _you'll_ work something out, and I'll-"

"Need to clear some time to sort through it all." Punk laughs at the doctor's comment, but surprisingly he doesn't sound offended like Dean had expected. Punk is unhappy with his perception of his lack of contribution to their financial situation, but Dean's far unhappier with the idea of Punk selling himself, and the doctor's joke had been at the expense of Punk not being gainfully employed.

"Yeah, cause I'm so busy." Punk's voice is difficult to hear; quiet and unobtrusive as though he's trying to avoid being heard.

"Have you... I mean... Don't do _that_ anymore, okay? I know you're-"

"You don't know anything, Colt." Punk snaps, and the doctor sighs. Dean has the terrible feeling he shouldn't be listening in to this, but it's _insightful_. "But... I... I won't go out... I'll think of something else."

"You learned how to read again, right?" The doctor says quietly, and Dean can feel a frown forming at the period of silence that follows. "Good. I've got a favour to ask you." What the doctor says next Dean doesn't hear, the silence after his request for a favour is long, and uncomfortable.

"I'll see you next week?" Punk sounds strangely happy, and Dean's relieved by that. If he's happy with whatever task the doctor gave him, it'll keep him from taking to prostitution once more.

"C'mon... That's a stupid question." The doctor laughs, and Dean can picture the slightly uncomfortable, but delighted expression that must be on Punk's face based on the sound of his own chuckle.

"Ha, yeah I guess... I'm never gonna get rid of you this time." Punk laughs, and there's another period of silence between them. Dean thinks he can hear some mumbling, but he can't be sure, and he's not willing to get closer to the door to find out. "Okay, I'll call you."

"Actually, I'll call you... Tuesday? You'll be free then, right?" Dean narrows his eyes at the door, wondering what the doctor could want to be calling Punk about, but it's probably none of his business, though if it's relating to Punk, it's Dean's business by default.

"Oh? Cool! Next week maybe you can meet Dean." Punk sounds ridiculously happy about this idea, and Dean winces. He decides he's eavesdropped long enough, and slinks into the bathroom to have an excuse to offer Punk when he enters the room.

It takes Punk another five minutes to enter the room, and Dean waits a few seconds before flushing the toilet pointlessly, and washing his hands.

"You just back?" Dean calls as he leaves the bathroom. Punk's leafing through the bag on the bed, holding the clothes up randomly, an odd little look on his face.

"I like the shirt." He smiles slightly as he holds a blue plaid shirt up to his chest. "I don't know if it's your colour though... I might steal it." He winks, and Dean crosses the room to sweep him up in an embrace.

"I'm glad you like it, baby, cause I bought it for you." Dean grins, and Punk glances back at the shirt, then at the other items he's scattered over the bed. "Do me some modelling?" Dean releases him, and flops down on the bed.

"You bought this for me?" Punk's staring down at the random collection of fabric, his expression flitting between embarrassed and elated.

"Yup." Dean sits up, and picks through the remaining clothes in the bag. "And some new boxers."

"You get socks too?" Punk laughs, and Dean produces a fresh pack of socks. He'd gone to a cheap store to buy them new, and is strangely pleased with himself for it. They're small things, but they're things he's provided for Punk with his own money, and there's a strange sense of pride filling him because of it. Punk starts pulling off his clothes, a mix of his homeless outfit and the nicer outfit the doctor bought, to change into the shirt he seems quite fond of, and a pair of decent if loose jeans. "So, what did your boss want?"

"Basically to invite us to dinner." Dean mutters, twirling his finger around, indicating he'd like to see Punk's back. "Bend over."

"What? Why?" Punk turns around, and Dean laughs at him.

"Cause I wanna check out your ass." Punk snorts at Dean's comment, but does bend over. The denim is still a little too baggy for Dean's liking, but it does hug the curve of Punk's ass nicely when he bends over.

"I meant dinner, you perv." Punk mumbles, and stands up, absently fingering the buttons of the shirt. "Does this suit me? I like it, but I don't know... It's a little _nice_ for me..."

"It looks amazing." Dean scoots down the bed, and pulls Punk down to him. "Wear the doctor's sweater over it, and the nice jeans he gave you, and you'll look incredible." Dean kisses Punk slowly, pulling him further down, and onto the bed.

"So, are you going to dinner with your boss?" Punk asks quietly once Dean breaks the kiss.

" _We_ are going to dinner with my _bosses_." Dean corrects him, stroking a finger over Punk's scar. "You're going to charm them with your pretty face, awesome ass, and charming wit, while I scarf down all the food." Dean laughs, and Punk snorts disdainfully.

"Somehow I doubt everything but the last one. When and where?" Punk absently starts running his fingers through Dean's hair, scratching at his scalp gently.

"Six at Joey's... You remember Joey, right? The guy with the big mole who owns the restaurant." Dean watches Punk trying to remember the man, smiling when recognition lights up Punk's face.

"We're eating there? Man... The food was good old and cold... Just think how good it'll be hot and fresh." Punk's grinning, and Dean can't help but return the grin.

"I know, right."

It takes them a surprisingly long time to get ready to go, apparently going out as scurriers is a far longer, more drawn out process than Dean had realised. It involved a lot Punk nervously picking at his clothes looking unhappily in the mirror, and Dean fussing over his facial, concerns that had never been a problem on the streets. Dean's sure that anyone will be able to look at them and see the lie of how they're dressed. It's plain to Dean that they're homeless playacting at being scurriers, but no one calls them on it, and no one questions them when they arrive at the restaurant.

"Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus." Joey's apparently working the door, and the man looks shocked but pleased to see them. He pulls Punk into a firm hug, then holds him out at arm's length. "Last time I saw you, my man, you looked like you'd died... Deano, you looking after him, huh?" The man pulls Dean into a hug too, and grins at them. "You finally got your feet back under you, boys?"

"Getting there." Dean smiles at the man, getting a hearty laugh from him.

"Well, you're here as customers-"

"Paying customers." Punk grins, and Joey snorts at him.

"You're my friend, Punk. You think I'mma let you pay me? You're just getting yourself together. I'm not letting you give me money! C'mon, what you take me for, eh?" Joey laughs, and slings his arm around Punk's shoulders. "Hey, Maria!" He clicks his fingers, and a harried-looking young woman comes over. "Best seat in the house for my friends. You make sure they're looked after, alright?"

"Yes, dad." She mumbles, looking embarrassed, then stops, staring at Punk. "Holy- It's you!" She pulls Punk into a hug, and Dean stares at the pair.

"Punk here beat some would be muggers up for my little princess a couple of years ago. Ever since he refused anything I offered him... Damn white knight complex or something... _But_ tonight I'mma gonna make sure that you two are _well_ looked after." Joey looks incredibly pleased with himself, and Dean's only mildly surprised by yet another tale of Punk's deeds on the streets. Punk is always claiming that he forgot _Phil_ because he was a bad person, that he's on the streets because the perceived _badness_ of Phil, it makes sense that as _Punk_ he always tried to do good to make up for the bad.

"It wasn't that big a deal... She'd have been fine on her own, she's a tough woman." Punk mumbles, looking embarrassed.

"We're meeting some people actually, Joey... A Seth Rollins, and a Roman Reigns? I don't know what they'll have booked the table under." Dean interrupts before the woman can protest Punk's claim he didn't do much. Dean's seen him in a fight, Punk can more than handle himself, and Dean doesn't doubt that Punk's underplaying the events.

"Maria, the two guys at the back table, tell them they're moving to a different one, best table in the house. Those two pay, these two do not." Joey grins, and waves his daughter away. "And Punk, the cannelloni are particularly good tonight, I made them myself."

"You don't have-"

"The tiramisu as well, Maria makes the _best_ in the whole city. Now off you go." The man turns from them to the next customers, and Maria leads them over to their table.

"I'm gonna go ahead and just order you pair the best on the menu." She tells them as she shows both Punk and Dean to their seats. "I know Papa would be devastated if you didn't try his cannelloni, but I know you love the calzone, Deano... So I'll make you up a doggy bag. You want some wine?" Punk shakes his head in response to her question, and for a brief moment Dean considers, but decides against it after looking at Roman. He's wearing an expression that's on the surface genial, but just underneath there's blatant bile. Punk hasn't, and thankfully won't, notice but Dean can't avoid it. Roman's distaste for Punk is plain, and Dean thinks keeping a clear head will help him deal with his boss.

"Just some water, Maria." Dean smiles at the woman, and she tuts slightly.

"Papa'll kill me if you try and take tap water, so you're getting the fancy bottle stuff." She laughs, and wanders off, quickly returning with two glasses, and two bottles of water that look ridiculously expensive. "First course won't be long. Did you two gentlemen already place an order?" She turns to Roman and Seth, quickly making a note of their orders.

"I wasn't aware you were dating a local _celebrity_." Roman's voice is coolly dismissive, and Dean notes that the tone makes Punk curl into himself slightly. The encounter with the restaurant owner and his daughter had buoyed Punk up somewhat, he'd seemed nearly confident for the first time since he'd left the motel room, but that illusion of confidence just crumbled in the face of Roman's comment.

"I uh... I helped once." Punk takes a drink of his water, and seems determined to look at nothing but the tablecloth. Dean frowns slightly, and decides to try to make this all a little easier for Punk to bear, introducing him to the two men sat opposite might put him at ease some, and if nothing else it gives Dean something useful to say.

"Roman, Seth, this is my boyfriend-"

"Call me Punk." Punk cuts in with an awkward smile, and Dean glances over at him. " _I don't think they'd accept Punk as my name coming from you._ " Punk whispers into Dean's ear leaning close under the pretence of fixing Dean's shirt collar.

"So _Punk_." Seth pronounces carefully as a strained smile settles on his lips. "Dean's neatly avoided telling us anything about you." Punk laughs awkwardly in response to Seth's statement, and glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Dean reaches over to Punk, and catches his hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I..." Punk starts, but falters quickly. He looks desperately uncomfortable, and Dean squeezes his hand once more. "I'm not good at talking about myself." A self-conscious smile steals over his lips as he glances over at Dean, who gives him a broad reassuring grin, and places a quick kiss over the scar on his temple. "Long time ago I was in an accident... My memory's been _unreliable_ since then, I don't really remember any-"

"I'm sorry." Roman interrupts; he looks slightly irritated by the little displays of affection Dean's showing Punk, but Dean really couldn't care less. Punk isn't comfortable with this, and if he stays being uncomfortable, Dean'll make excuses for them both, and leave the restaurant. Marie's already promised them a doggy bag, and the calzone from the restaurant were always incredible cold, hot is something Dean can't wait to try. "I'm sure it's _difficult_." Roman smiles broadly at Punk, but there's something _off_ about the expression in his eyes, and Punk starts staring down at the space between his knife and fork. "So, Dean... How did you meet _Punk_?" Roman seems to be actively ignoring Punk, his entire body turned away from him, and Dean can feel ire building in him, but appearances are important. To keep his job he'll act out a few lies to appease the man _staring_ at him.

"How did we meet?" Dean laughs slightly, and scoots a little closer to Punk, holding his hand tighter. "On the streets... A chance encounter." Dean nudges Punk shoulder lightly, dragging Punk's attention from the tablecloth. "You remember?"

"Yeah... I remember... we-"

"So was it long ago?" Roman interrupts once more, and Punk seems to curl into himself a little more, Dean holds back the urge to smack his boss, but he does catch the look on Seth's face, a sharply annoyed expression that has Dean smiling gratefully at him.

"Years ago." Punk mumbles, then stands. "I'm gonna-"

"I'll come with you." Seth stands as well, and the pair leave Dean alone with the smirking Roman.

"He seems... _Quiet_." Roman's not looking at Dean as he makes that comment, instead he's staring intently at Seth and Punk. "Not at all what I expected someone like you going for." He turns his attention to Dean.

"He's... I can't explain it... He's _perfect_ for me." Dean smiles awkwardly, and Roman laughs.

"No such thing as perfect, Dean... Everyone has their flaws, their weaknesses, their _temptations_." Roman takes a sip of his wine, and all but leers at Dean. "So what's the deal with his memory?"

"You could have let him explain." Dean manages to stop from snapping that comment, but it was delivered a little more harshly than it should have been. Roman laughs at him, and rests his chin on his laced fingers.

"I'm asking you... You've got a much more _pleasant_ speaking voice." Roman smirks again, and Dean takes a long drink of his water.

"Before I met him, he was in an accident... The scar on his forehead-"

"What scar?" Roman cuts in, and Dean takes another drink of water to keep from complaining. It seems that interrupting people is just something Roman does.

"There's a big scar on his temple." Dean closes his eyes, picturing the stark reminder of Punk's mysterious accident. "Anyway, as a result of the accident he lost his memories-"

"Amnesia? Jesus... You're dating a character from a terrible movie, maybe even a shitty comic bo-"

"Stop." Dean snaps, and Roman has the decency to look abashed. "Look, I get it, you wanna get in my pants, but I love him, and I'm not interested in sleeping with you, so _please_ just be nice to the man I love, or fire me." Roman sits back in his chair, a startled and contrite expression on his face.

"I'm sorry... I... I'm not _used_ to being rejected. I'll apologise to him." Roman smiles, and this time it seems more sincere.

"Don't, it'll make him uncomfortable... He lost _everything_ to that accident. Who he was, what he knew, how to read people... He... Just-"

"Be nice?" Roman's smile softens, and Dean glances away from him. When he's not leering, or being unpleasant, Roman's an attractive guy, but he knows it, and that makes it infuriating.

" _So_ , we miss anything interesting?" Seth asks as he takes his seat. Dean glances around expecting Punk to be with him, but Punk's nowhere to be seen. "We were accosted just outside the little boy's room by a loud gentleman called _Sammy_ , I believe."

"Sammo." Dean mutters, and stands. "I should go say hi."

When he gets to the bathroom, Punk's standing in the middle of a small group of kitchen staff along with the guy from the deli. It seems as though the deli worker is holding court, the group all laughing at his story.

"So I says to the guy- Deano! My man! How you doing? Punk here tells me you're a working man these days! How come you never told me, huh? _And_ you never told me that this one was sick! Deano, I'm hurt, I thought we was friends." Sammo grabs at his heart dramatically, and Punk laughs at him.

"Escaped my mind... I was too busy trying to keep him from dying." Dean presses as kiss to Punk's temple as soon as he's close enough, and Punk snuggles up to him with a smile on his lips.

"So, Punk tells me that those two are your bosses, and the big one is an asshole." Dean glances from Sammo and Punk in surprise. It's not like Punk to form an opinion, especially a negative opinion, on someone so quickly.

"I could spit in his soup." One of the kitchen staff chimes in, and another round of laughter breaks out.

"I gave him a warning, but if I scratch my nose, feel free to do your worst gentlemen." Dean laughs, and the restaurant employees cackle in amusement.

"We should get back... Don't want to make an even worse impression on the guys employing you." Punk's voice is quietly resigned, and Dean nods slightly, silently hoping that Roman will be _nicer_ this time.

"Punk, remember what I said, okay?" Sammo cuts in, and Punk nods sharply. "As soon as you have it, you call me, and you're in. I'm the boss now, I make the decisions, and-"

"I know, soon as I have my number I'll call you." Punk smiles, and pats the apparently now deli owner on the shoulder, letting Dean guide him back to their table.

"When did Sammo take over the deli?" Dean asks, his arm tightening around Punk's waist as they approach their seats.

"Few months ago. His dad died, and now it's his. He says as soon as I have my social security number he'll give me a job." Punk smiles tentatively. "I'm not sure how good I'll be at making sandwiches, but a _real_ job."

"Yup, a real job, baby. I'm proud of you, and well, I guess your doctor has a mission to find your number then." Dean mutters, and Punk stops walking suddenly.

"I should call Colt... Maybe he's some idea of where it could be! I should-"

"Come and eat first. He'll be working or sleeping or something." Dean tugs on Punk lightly, prompting him into action once more.

"Yeah, you're right, but I could have a job... I could have a job _soon_... I wouldn't be useless-"

"You're not useless." Dean snaps, and Punk snorts in response. Dean pulls out Punk's chair once they arrive back at the table, and pushes him closer to the table, letting Dean whisper in his ear. " _You could never be useless, because without you there'd be no me_." When Dean sits down, he notes a blush on Punk's cheeks, and a little smile he can't chase away, a little smile Dean never wants Punk to be able to chase away.

The rest of dinner passes far more pleasantly. Roman isn't actively ignoring, or being rude to Punk, but it's still clear that he's more interested in Dean. Half way through the main course, Roman and Seth swap seats, making Roman opposite Dean rather than diagonally across from him. It seems Seth is more interested in talking to Punk, and Punk seems to be enjoying listening to Seth's increasingly humorous stories from the nightclub. Punk had told a story of his own, one about his doctor _friend_ and some exploit from A &E, some tall tale about the ridiculous reasons people go to Accident and Emergency rooms. Seth had thought it was hilarious, and dissolved into laughter, while Roman had actually appeared to be listening to Punk, and had chuckled in genuine amusement.

The next day, Dean spends with Punk. They lounge around in bed till the afternoon, then head to the bank to open an account. It takes time, but in the end, Dean leaves the proud owner of a brand new account, and the promise of an ATM card in the mail. It was only a day together, but it's a day that Dean keeps to the forefront of his mind for the rest of the week.

A week with a routine, a week where he comes back to the motel room late, a little drunk, and a lot tired. A week where he sleeps plastered to Punk's back. A week where he wakes up to the sight of Punk with his nose buried in some book he always slams shut and hides when he notices Dean's awake. A week where he goes to work, and Roman basically ignores him, whilst Seth looks between them with concern. A week where Dean clings to the memory of day spent with the honesty of the streets. A week that ends with a text message that reads:

 _I'll let you know when we need your services again. - Roman Reigns_

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - littleone1389, VKxXx92, Guest**_ _ **, Moiself,**_ _ **Brokenspell77, roksand,**_ _ **and Rebellecherry.**_

 _So as a PSA I'm not going to be at home for a while - I'll be in the UK. (Hence the lateness of this chapter, please forgive me packing panics me.) My flight is on Wednesday, and I'll be there till early September (back for Moon Festival!), so I'm not entirely certain when I'll have the next chapter finished - I've been working on it, but I'm not sure when it'll be done. If it takes me a long time please forgive me. (I'll try to get as much done as I can before I leave though.)_

 **If you read all the way down here, please review - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	9. 09

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells**._

* * *

Punk had expected the dinner with Dean's bosses to go horribly, but it was far better than he'd expected. He'd felt awkward, and out of place all night, the brief moments of respite from knowing how much Dean's dating beneath him were far and few between. All night Roman had been gazing at Dean, and all night Dean had been laughing and talking to his boss. There'd been a part of Punk that was relieved that Dean gets on with him so well, and a part that had seethed with something close to jealousy. The day after the dinner had been good, perhaps the best day that they've had since Dean started working, but the niceness of that one day didn't last too long. Very quickly, it was back to the same routine, and Punk was left spending his time missing Dean, and reading, lots of reading.

"Knock, knock." Punk glances over at the door in confusion. Scott has told him last week that he'd call on Tuesday, but all day the phone's been silent. Punk's not entirely sure he minds, he's been plenty busy. The last time he met with the doctor, Scott had given him a diary. It's a simple little black book, written in a code that Scott had told Punk he couldn't read. Punk had fully expected to be thwarted by Phil's diary too, but on opening it, he'd recognised the code. It's _very_ similar to the code Punk uses, _used_ to write down his appointments with regular clients. It's nothing fancy, a simple cipher, but it had thrown Punk to see this diary full of a code that he could mostly understand all the same. Ever since Scott gave him the diary he's been working on translating what it says, trying to piece together what Phil was writing down. So far all Punk's really gotten is a headache, and confusion. Phil seemed to record nothing of any importance, and had a fondness for disjointed rambling and bad poetry. It's almost like this book is a decoy to distract from the real diary, but Punk has the feeling that the simple code overlies another more complex code he doesn't understand, or Phil really did like writing the sort of poetry that would make fourteen year olds proud.

"Hello?" Punk mumbles as he opens the motel room door, and is greeted by the sight of Scott looking exhausted whilst holding a bag of takeaway containers. "C'mon in." Punk steps aside, and ushers Scott in. "It's late." It's a stupid, if accurate observation, and Scott laughs softly, taking a seat in the one chair in the room.

"I'm just off a shift, and I wanted to bring you this before I went home." Scott smiles brightly.

"You wanted to bring me food?" Punk raises an eyebrow, and gestures to the bag still dangling from Scott's hand. It might be just for the doctor, but it's a big bag, and there's no way he'd carry it all the way from his car to the motel room if some of it wasn't for Punk.

"Ha, you got me. How's your chopstick handling?" Scott starts pulling the containers from the bag, and Punk comes over to perch on the edge of the bed. Punk frowns at him, uncertain as to why Scott would be asking him that question.

"I've never used chopsticks, Colt... You're gonna have to-"

"Ta-da! One fork! Though I will teach you how to eat with sticks if you like." Scott grins, Punk takes the fork from him, a wry smirk twisting his lips. Punk's certain that he'd be thwarted by the chopsticks, and the lazy grin on Scott's face says he thinks so too. "I didn't just come here to feed you, well, I mean it was part of the reason, but-." Scott starts opening the containers, and Punk gawps at them.

"What the hell... _Sushi_?" The little covered trays Scott's laid out on the desk are not what he was expecting at all. There's some noodles, but most of the food is raw fish and rice, which Punk doesn't think he's ever tried it in his life.

"You... Well, _Phil_ liked sushi, so I wondered if you would too, but if not..." Scott gestures to the noodles, a toothy grin on his face.

"I'll try it." Punk smiles slightly, and he waits patiently for the doctor to take the first piece. He's the guest, so he should eat first, and Punk wants to watch so he can learn how to eat this sushi. "But only after you."

"Yeah, yeah." Scott deftly picks up a small delicate arrangement of fish and rice, dips it in a little soy sauce, and then eats it. Punk feels rather barbaric stabbing the sushi with his fork, but he's certain that there's no way he'd be able to manipulate the chopsticks with Scott's grace or skill. "So, this is what I was talking about last week." Scott pulls a thick sheath of papers from the bag, and tosses them onto the bed beside Punk. "This fucking article... I swear it's more hassle than it's worth publishing bullshit in journals, but it looks good on the old resume." Scott laughs, and Punk gingerly picks up the paper, leafing through it. He's sure being published looks amazing on resumes, whilst being homeless and a character from a shitty movie doesn't. Roman's contempt for Punk's condition has been ticking over in his mind, and there's nothing much Punk can do about it, but try to force himself to forget. It's usually so easy for him to forget things that it's annoying to him that Dean's boss's contempt for him is lingering so long in his mind.

"What if I don't under-"

"You don't need to, not really at least. Alls you just need to do is make sure it flows, and that all my commas are in the right place." Scott grins, and Punk frowns at a misplaced comma in the third sentence on the page he's reading. "Here, red pen." Scott offers a red pen to Punk, their fingers brushing lightly when Punk accepts it from him. The little spark of warmth that flares from that point of contact is something Punk is at once at ease with, and completely troubled by, so he doesn't dwell on it.

"Is there a time limit on this?" The words on the page mean very little to Punk, but he supposes it's like Scott said, he doesn't need to understand what it says, he just needs to make sure other people can.

"Couple of weeks. I'm not in a big hurry for it." Scott taps the papers, drawing Punk's attention to him. "Eat. You're looking thin, and pale, but mostly thin." Punk nods, and stabs another piece of sushi. He's surprised by how much he likes it, surprised and relieved. He'd have felt guilty if he'd not liked it, but would have eaten it to spare Scott's feelings, which Punk is sure Scott would have noticed, and then he'd have felt guilty, causing entirely too much feeling bad between them both. "We hanging out tomorrow?" Scott asks, and Punk nods absently, taking another piece of sushi, his attention caught by the papers once more. He's not sure he understand the article, but it's interesting. "So... How's the diary coming? Do you understand any of what Phil was talking about?"

"Huh?" Punk looks up from the papers, a slightly sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry, this is kind of interesting." He shakes the papers in his hand a little, and Scott barks a soft laugh.

"Random esoteric knowledge always was your favourite kind." The smile that settles on his lips makes something turn to liquid in the pit of Punk's stomach, and he looks away before he starts having inappropriate thoughts about his friend.

"It's not esoteric; you know what you've written about, Colt." Punk smirks, and Scott nods absently, the smile not shifting one little bit, and Punk's stomach is feeling no closer to solid. "So... Tomorrow is your day off, right?" Punk forces himself to sound normal, but he thinks his voice is a little lower, a little more _husky_ than it should be. Scott nods in response to Punk's question, hiding a yawn behind his hand. "You tired?" Another nod, and another yawn come in response to Punk's second question. "Idiot... This could have waited till tomorrow." Punk shakes his head, and Scott yawns a third time.

"I said I'd speak to you today though." He says eventually, clearly holding back yet another yawn. "I've let you down so-"

"I'd have understood if you wanted to get some sleep." Punk snaps. There's no heat in his tone though, only something that to Punk sounds painfully fond. "Finish this up." He gestures to the sushi, and Scott takes the last piece. "Shoes off."

"What?" Scott blinks at him stupidly, and Punk sighs dramatically at him, before standing up, and crouching before the mildly bewildered doctor. He starts untying Scott's shoelaces, deftly dodging the half-hearted attempts to stop him Scott makes. "Punkers, what the-"

"You're going to nap, and I'm going to read this over. I'll wake you up in like two hours, then you can head home." Punk waves at the bed, and Scott looks at him dubiously. "You're too tired to drive right now. It'd be irresponsible of me to let you, so you can have y bed for a little bit."

"You sure? I can't see your boyfriend liking strangers sleeping in your bed." Scott makes a grab for his laces, and Punk snorts, tugging one of Scott's shoes off.

"He's not here. He won't be back for hours, and Dean knows you're my friend, so he won't mind." Punk grins, and Scott rolls his eyes. He toes his other shoe off, and rubs his hand over the stubble on Punk's head as he stands. Punk forces away the warmth that floods him at the familiar gesture.

"I wanna meet your saintly boyfriend, you know that, right? He sounds pretty much perfect, and I wanna make sure that he is." There's a thick note of protectiveness in Scott's tone, and Punk can feel his cheeks beginning to heat up. "Which side can I have?" Punk pauses briefly considering the question. Dean sleeps on the right, and Punk doesn't want Scott and Dean sharing spots for reasons he's in no mood to examine.

"Take the left." Punk turns to look at the doctor with a smile, and Scott nods, before flopping onto the bed. Punk takes the seat, and starts reading the article Scott gave him from page one, hoping it'll make more sense this time. After maybe ten minutes, Punk realises he's been incredibly rude, and glances over his shoulder at the prostrate figure of the doctor."You want the light out?" Punk calls out softly, but the only response is a quiet snore. Punk wanders over to the bed quietly, and watches the doctor sleep for a moment. He looks pretty content, his eyes closed, a happily neutral expression on his face. There's a foolish urge to touch the sleeping doctor's face that Punk manages to fight down, instead he drapes the thick wool coat the doctor had been wearing when he arrived in the motel room over him, and goes back to reading the article.

"I thought you were going to wake me up, not fall asleep in the chair." Scott's voice is heavily amused when it stirs Punk from his sleep. "You have a good nap?" Punk sits up quickly, self-consciously swiping at the side of his mouth, convinced there has to be drool there.

"Sorry... I guess I was more tired than I thought. I did read this through a few times though, and it seems _okay_ , but I'm sure I've missed some errors. There's some stuff I wanna check too... I'm not entirely sure I remember what a colon does."

"It moves the shit through your body." Scott laughs, and Punk rolls his eyes at him. "I know, I know, wrong colon." He laughs again. "So... How about tomorrow you, me, and your man have brunch? I was serious when I said I wanted to meet him."

"I'll ask him... He might be tired, or wanting to head to work early. He does that, you know. Dean's very dedicated to his job, even if his boss, well one of his bosses, is an asshole. Did I tell you about _Roman_?" Punk spits the name, and Scott shakes his head as he sits to pull his shoes on. "So, we went to dinner last week, Dean, his two bosses, and me. One of them is really nice, well okay he's self-obsessed, and has the most annoying voice, but he's at least friendly and let me finish a sentence. Can't remember his name, but he's got two coloured hair, and a neck thicker than his face. Nice guy, strange neck... _Anyway_ , then there's Roman." Scott raises an eyebrow at this, and Punk rubs the back of his neck slightly embarrassed. "What?"

"You remember his name... You must really dislike the guy." Scott's eyes are narrowed, and Punk smiles awkwardly.

"I've never... There was something _off_ about him. He... Nothing I said he heard, he... All night he just stared at Dean. It was like there was no one else in the restaurant but Dean... _My_ Dean." Punk scowls, and Scott laughs at him softly.

"Based on what I've seen, and heard about _your_ Dean, he's going to be staying that way, even if this Roman guy likes him." Scott stands, and Punk ducks his head. He can feel the rest of his rant on the tip of his tongue, but Scott looks like he's going to leave, and Punk won't keep the poor man longer than he already has. "I better get home before your Dean gets back, it's nearly half three." Punk glances over at the clock on the table on Dean's side of the bed, and is a little surprised by the time.

"Fuck... It's late, you should get to bed, Colt." Punk stands, and starts putting the empty food containers back into the plastic bag. "Wait a second, and I'll walk you to your car, I need to put this out to the trash." Scott nods, and helps Punk clean up the mess from their shared dinner.

"So, you give me a ring tomorrow?" Scott asks on the way down the stairs.

"Yeah, I will do... Though, if I don't-"

"Come over, any time after noon, I'll be awake." Scott smiles at him, and Punk nods. "I'll see you later, Punkers."

"Yeah." Punk pulls Scott into a firm hug, holding tightly as he presses his face against the side of Scott's neck. "Later, Colt." Punk lets go, and waves cheerily as Scott gets into his car and drives away. All the way back to the motel room, Punk can feel the ghost of Scott's arms around him, and it unnerves him, because he likes being held by Scott. He's never liked anyone holding him but Dean before, but being in Scott's arms feels safe, and Punk craves feeling safe almost more than anything else.

"You were out late." Dean's already home by the time Punk makes it back to the motel room. He's leaning against a wall, his expression distant, and obviously drunk.

"Dean?" Punk cautiously starts, uncertain what kind of a drunk Dean is. He's seen Dean tipsy, but he's always respected Punk's straightedge lifestyle, so he's never gotten properly drunk in front of Punk until now.

"Yeah?" There's a singsong edge to Dean's voice, some kind of melodious mischievousness that Punk hadn't expected, but is relieved by. It seems Dean's a more cheerful drunk than ones Punk's encountered on the streets. "You weren't out working were you? I don't want you out whoring, baby... You're too good for that, too good for most things... Too good for me." Dean half stumbles, half staggers over to Punk, and wraps his arms around Punk's waist tightly. His breath is heavy with whisky, and it makes Punk want to recoil, but the warmth of Dean's embrace cancels that desire out. The warmth of Dean's embrace cancels _almost_ everything out. "Got really drunk tonight... Ro wanted to drink with me... I like Ro, but he was mean to you... I told him off though. Gotta be nice to my baby I said to him. I love my Punk, and I ain't gonna let anyone be mean to him cause he's precious, and beautiful, and cute, and dangerous, and sexy, and you smell weird." Dean rambles in Punk's ear, his hair smells of smoke, and Punk wonders if he's noticing the fact he's walking them slowly, but surely closer to the bathroom. He wants Dean to shower before they share a bed tonight; he wants to smell Dean, and not alcohol or tobacco.

"Weird? How? I've not been _working_ in a while, I should smell normal." Punk mutters, and Dean freezes, a huge grin on his face.

"You've not? Baby, I'm proud of you!" He chuckles, and his hands move from Punk's waist to his face. "I wish you could see how pretty you are..." Dean mumbles, his fingers tentatively stroking Punk's skin. "Sometimes I'm scared to touch you cause you're so pretty."

"You're drunk, Dean... _Very_ drunk. Let's shower, then sleep, okay?" Punk smiles at him, trying to ignore the blush on his cheeks. Dean nods in acquiescence to Punk's idea, causing relief to flood Punk. He's fond of being held and caressed by Dean, but being told he's pretty _always_ freaks him out. Dean starts pulling off his clothes, and Punk follows suit, then he stuffs the dirty clothes into the big bag he's been taking to the laundrette across the street every so often. He'll drag it across the street later in the week for something to do whilst Dean sleeps. It's not exciting, but it is necessary, and the laundry staff are at least nice enough to let Punk have a cup of coffee whilst he waits.

"You smell like fish, exhaustion." Dean says once they're in the shower. "And... Not sex, but still like someone else." Punk can feel a sting of something in his gut at Dean's half-slurred words, and he busies himself with washing. It's Scott's scent that's clinging to him, it has to be, and Punk's not as uncomfortable with that thought as he perhaps should be.

"Co-Scott came over with dinner." Punk offers honestly, or at least half-honestly. He's no intention of telling Dean that Scott slept in their bed.

"He's a good friend... You like him, don't you?" Dean's leaning against the shower wall, staring at Punk through half-lidded eyes, a slight smirk on his lips. "You like him a lot... I... I worry that he'll give you everything I can't, that he'll take you away from me. You're all I have... You're all I can't lose, Punk." Dean chuckles softly after that, his eyes blearily focussing on Punk.

"Idiot... You're not gonna lose me. You'd have to throw me away to be rid of me." Punk laughs at him, and draws Dean into a kiss. The taste of Dean's mouth is worse than when they were on the streets, the flavour of smoky alcohol is far worse than dirty teeth and bad breath, but Punk endures because there's nothing quite like being kissed by Dean. Dean's kisses are all encompassing, they rob Punk of his ability to think, his ability to breathe, the ability to do anything but kiss back. "You know I love you... You know without you I'd be dead... You know..." Punk sighs quietly; Dean's staring at him blankly with nothing registering. The words Punk wants to say, the heavy, _honest_ words about how much Dean means to him, about how much Dean is all Punk has to rely on, aren't for now, he'll tell Dean when he's sober.

The next morning Dean wakes briefly with a hangover that has Punk smiling softly, and slipping out to buy some painkillers. When Punk returns, Dean's fast asleep, so there's little chance that they'll be having brunch with Scott, and once Punk manages to enter the doctor's number into Dean's phone's memory, he sends a message to explain just that.

 _Sorry, Dean's not well. I'll be over later though, if that's okay. Oh! It's Punk by the way. - sent_

 _You have a phone? - Dr Scott Colton_

Punk scowls at the little machine, and debates how to reply to the message. HIs contemplation is cut short by Dean letting out a pitiful groan as the phone chirps once more.

 _How's the head, Deany? You sleep it off? ;) - Roman Reigns_

"Is that Roman?" Dean groans, and Punk nods sharply, quickly hitting send on the message he was writing to the doctor.

 _It's not my phone, it's Dean's for work, but I didn't want to wake him up. I'll come by about five-ish. - Sent_

"Yeah... I was borrowing it to send a message to Scott." Punk perches carefully on the edge of the bed, and strokes Dean's hair back from his face. "You look terrible." He grins, and Dean manages a weak smile. "You drink too much last night?"

"Roman decided that I was too much of a light-weight, challenged me to tequila shots. I'd forgotten how awful that shit is."Dean shudders slightly, and Punk presses a quick kiss to his temple.

"Here, water and pain pills." Punk gestures to the table, and Dean's eyes light up.

"You... Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you." Dean takes the pills, and throws them into his mouth, swallowing them down with a big swig of water. "So, what were you talking to the good doctor about?" Dean flops back down against his pillows, and pulls the blankets down on Punk's side of the bed, patting the space beside him invitingly.

"He had wanted to meet us for brunch, I was advising him that wouldn't be possible." Punk lies down beside Dean, and snuggles up to his side. "He's going to think you're avoiding him if you don't let him feed you at this rate." Punk laughs, and Dean looks over at him. The phone chirps once more, and Dean's attention is caught by it as he reads the message, laughing carefully at the contents.

"Alright, Punk. Five sounds good to me, but tell your man that next week I'm bringing him food." Dean reads in a strange almost _posh_ accent, and Punk presses his face against Dean's shoulder, smothering a laugh.

"I told you." Punk's voice is muffled, but he's pressing his face against Dean for a reason. He knows it's stupid, but he's convinced he can smell Scott's scent clinging to the fabric of his pillow. He'd been convinced of it all night, and had slept half on top of Dean because of it. It had felt too strange, too _wrong_ to lie in bed with Dean whilst being convinced he could smell Scott. Though as wrong as it'd felt, there'd been a part of Punk that had enjoyed it. He'd liked the idea that he could smell both his lover, and his friend at the same time, he'd liked the idea of being cradled between them, and he knows that should feel far more wrong than it had.

"Alright, next week, we'll hang out with your doctor friend... You know it's weird like a month ago, you were dying, we were on the streets... We were both _trapped_ , but then this doctor saved you... He... Fuck, Punk... He saved us _both_. Without you I'd-"

"I know." Punk cuts in. If he knows what Dean was going to say, he's no idea, but he does know that it was more than likely going to be something far too sweet, and far too sappy for Punk to stand this early in the day.

"So, I've got you until five then?" Dean chuckles suddenly, his hands reaching for Punk. The pain medication has clearly started its work, and Punk can't say he minds in the least. "I've an idea on how we can spend the time."

There's a paranoid part of Punk that's convinced he smells like sex when he knocks on Scott's door. Why he's paranoid about it is something he's mildly concerned about. He shouldn't care that he potentially smells like he enjoyed an afternoon of fucking with his boyfriend, but he does, and he cares because he doesn't want to be visiting Scott smelling like another man. For Scott, Punk wants to smell like Punk and nothing more.

"Hey! C'mon in." Scott's grinning when he opens the door, and Punk steps into the apartment. Scott wanders off after giving Punk a quick hug, leaving him to close the front door. "I'm cooking... _And_ not yet burning! _Thankfully_!" Scott calls, and Punk shakes his head at him. "So, what happened to Dean?" Scott doesn't sound put out by being stood up by Dean once again, in fact he sounds more amused than anything.

"Hangover." Punk mutters as he hangs his coat up, and toes off his shoes. Punk comes into the kitchen, and leans against the counter beside Scott "What were you up to all day then? This is the first day off on your own you've had in ages. Must've been fun." Punk laughs, and the doctor shakes his head slightly.

"I missed you- _r_ company." The last part of the sentence sounds as though Scott had just tacked it on at the last minute. Punk fidgets slightly, and glances at the contents of the pot on the stove. "Soup." Scott supplies helpfully.

"I can see that." Punk snorts dismissively, his eyes darting around the room, trying to find any indication of what kind of soup it is.

"Random vegetable soup." Scott clarifies, and Punk raises an eyebrow. "I decided to make bread, and well... Soup goes with bread, and vegetable soup is good for you. You're still too thin, though I will admit you look better." Scott doesn't look at Punk once whilst he talks, and Punk's grateful for that. He's having a hard time handling the peripheral view of the soft look Scott's giving the soup, if it was turned on him fully, Punk's sure he'd be a simpering puddle.

"I'm feeling better." Punk mumbles, and takes a seat at the table. "I've been working on Phil's diary. You asked about it last night, and there's nothing but poetry so far." Punk sets the little black book down on the table, and Scott glances over.

"Good poetry?" Scott pulls a pair of bowls from a cupboard near the stove, and starts serving the soup.

"Terrible poetry... The sort of poetry where you rhyme dark with dark." Punk taps the book, and Scott laughs at him as he carries the soup bowls over.

"Spoons are in the top drawer. You want butter on your bread? I think there's some nice cheese too..." Scott wanders back over to the counter, and Punk goes and fetches two spoons, but he doesn't bothering answering any of the doctor's questions. He knows that Scott will fetch the butter, and the cheese, he knows that the doctor made the offer as a heads up rather than a real question.

They eat with a light chatter between them. It makes Punk think about how nervous he'd been when he'd first come to Scott's apartment, when he'd first thought of talking to the doctor and learning about who he used to be. In many way that nervousness has been borne out, Punk has good reason to be nervous over finding out who he was, because it seems who he was is a mystery on so many more levels than he'd first thought. Scott was Phil's friend, but Phil had secrets from him. It seems Phil had secrets from everyone, and a fondness for writing terrible poetry. Scott seems at once amused, and strangely saddened by the poems Punk reads him. Whilst he chuckles along with Punk, there's a strange sadness in his eyes, and Punk feels awkward about reading them aloud, but it's done, so there's nothing he can do about it. If there's something more to them, Punk's sure Scott will tell him eventually.

"I... I need to ask you a favour." Punk breaks the comfortable silence they'd been lulled into whilst sitting on the couch, watching TV, not even discussing Punk's past, instead they'd been laughing at some comedy shoe. It's strange, but Punk thinks that for all he's learning about who he was, he's also learning about who he _is_ by visiting Scott. He's learning, or perhaps changing, and he's not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

"Oh?" Scott glances over at him, and Punk fidgets on the couch. There's a space between them, a space that feels like a gaping chasm to Punk. He wants to move closer, wants to feel Scott's arm around him, but Punk stays put for several good, and several bad, reasons.

"I've been offered a job-"

"Punkers, you're still healing." An authoritative note laces Scott's tone, and Punk rolls his eyes at the doctor.

"I _know_. A job for when I'm _better_." Punk makes finger quotes _around_ better, and Scott laughs at him lightly. "A job that requires me to have my social security number." Punk smiles slightly, and Scott nods absently.

"Should be up in the basement, I'll take a look." He shrugs, and Punk doesn't fight the urge to all but throw himself at the doctor in a hug. "So, what is this job?" Scott returns the hug without thought, and when Punk tries to slink back to his side of the couch, Scott tucks him in close, his arm wrapped around Punk's shoulders.

"Making sandwiches." He should stop snuggling, Punk knows he should. He loves Dean, but he adores being held, and being held by his friend is nothing for Dean to be concerned with. Punk needs the reassurance that being pressed against someone he cares about gives him, and whilst for the longest time it was only Dean Punk wanted to cuddle him, but Scott has somehow, someway managed to be added to the very short list of people Punk is willing to be held by, so Punk thinks that Dean wouldn't mind him snuggle with Scott.

"At a Subway?" There's a hint of hope in Scott's voice, and Punk laughs at him.

"No... A deli... I... Next time I'll take you. You can meet the boss. He's a nice guy..." Punk trails off. This would be the moment normal people said the deli owner's name, but Punk doesn't know it. He could describe the man perfectly, but naming him is beyond Punk's abilities.

"Okay... It'll have to be the week after next though." Scott sighs, and stands, urging Punk to follow him to the kitchen. "See." He gestures to the calendar pinned to the wall. The next week is marked as being all at work. The following week Scott has a few days off, but next week Punk's on his own as Scott'll be busy.

"You're working all next week?" Punk mutters, cursing the fact that he'll probably forget the shift pattern when he leaves the apartment. It would be helpful to remember what time Scott's shifts were.

"All week. Doctoring, great money, great sense of personal accomplishment, horrible social life. I knew the risks." Scott laughs.

"What did I study?" Punk asks suddenly, and Scott glances over at him. "I doubt I studied medicine like you, so what the hell was I studying?"

"You? I'm surprised you've not asked before to be honest. You were studying movies... You... _Phil_ used to want to be director... He... I wonder if I still have them..." Scott trails off, and Punk looks hopefully at him.

"Still have what?" He wants Scott to say that he's talking about home movies made by Phil; he desperately wants Scott to say that they were good movies made by Phil, movies he's proud of.

"He made me and bunch of our friends make these dumb movies... He... I'll look for them when I look for your number, okay?" Scott shakes his head as though clearing the fog of nostalgia away.

"Was I good?" Punk asks softly without thought. Scott had described the movies as dumb, hadn't sounded in the least bit proud of _Phil's_ work, and Punk's oddly _offended_ by that.

"At directing? Yeah, you're- Phil, sorry, was good." Scott corrects himself, and Punk realises that he hadn't. He'd asked if _he_ was good at directing, not if _Phil_ was. The differentiation between the two keeps feeling thinner and thinner to Punk, especially around the doctor.

"I'll be excited to see them." Punk grins at the doctor, and smothers a yawn with his hand.

"You ready to go? C'mon, I'll run you back to the motel." Scott gently pats Punk's shoulder, and makes a move to get ready to leave.

The drive to the motel was rather like dinner, a light chatter filling the time. In just the few short visits Punk's had with the doctor, he feels comfortable. With so many people, even years after meeting them, Punk still doesn't feel comfortable around them, but with Scott feeling uncomfortable doesn't seem to be an option.

"If you need to talk, Punkers." Scott pulls a slip of paper from his pocket, and Punk stares at it.

"What's this? Your schedule?" Punk stares down at the neatly copied version of Scott's rota, and feels grateful. With it written, and in his hands, Punk will know when he can call, _if_ he needs to call that is. "I'll try to not bother you."

"You know you don't bother me, don't you? You know that getting you back was the best Christmas present I've ev-"

"Colt, you're Jewish, you don't get Christmas presents." Punk laughs, and the doctor snorts softly.

"You know what I mean... I thought you were lost... _Dead_ even, but then you show up in my life again, and I..." The doctor takes a deep breath, and turns to Punk with a smile. "Any time, you call, you come visit, so long as I'm not working I'll be there, and if I am working you wait for me... I'll be there for you, I promise." Punk nods at him unable to form any response to the solemn words, and Scott looks genuinely relieved by that.

"G'night." Punk pulls Scott into a hug, then slips from Scott's embrace, and car, quickly. Punk had intended to go rush to his and Dean's room to escape the earnest heaviness of Scott's words, but instead Punk hangs about waving goodbye to the doctor. He watches the doctor drive away, and feels strangely alone.

The rest of the week, Dean comes home in an incredibly affectionate mood. He plasters himself to Punk's back, and peppers kisses over the skin of Punk's shoulders. He doesn't talk about work, he doesn't ask how Punk's meeting with Scott went, and he studiously doesn't mention Phil's diary. That's something that's been bothering Punk, but he thinks he understands what Dean's doing. Dean is attempting to let Punk feel as though he's in charge of at least one part of his life. By not prying into the diary, Dean's letting it be just Punk's, and if Punk's honest, he's grateful Dean knows him well enough to know that this is something that Punk would want. Instead of asking probing questions, Dean listens when Punk decides to talk about the diary, he pays attention to what Punk says, and it fills Punk with almost glee. There are times Punk's painfully reminded of how perfect for him Dean is, and when he makes a subtle reference to one of the terrible poems Punk read him is one of those times.

It's a nice week, not as nice as it could be, but nice all the same. A week where Punk's certain that both of the important relationships in his life flourished. He feels closer to both his friend and his lover, and it keeps Punk's spirits high as he fights with the more confusing parts of Phil's diary.

Something changes on Sunday though. Punk can't put his finger on what, but the whole next week Dean seems _different_. He comes home later, and later, barely speaks when he's there, and worst of all, at least as far as Punk is concerned, is he's not held Punk once all week. There've been no casual little moments of affection, no gentle touches, no soft smiles, no caresses, no embraces, no kisses, and Punk has no idea why. He could talk to Scott about it, but he's certain the doctor would laugh it off. Scott seems convinced that Dean is good for him, though Punk's certain he's seen something in the way Scott looks at him. He's sure there's a part of the doctor that sees himself as being good for Punk, but that part is too respectful of Punk, and too in love with the memory of Phil to make a move. That, and the doctor is working all week, not a single free day, so Punk has no one to turn to. Despite needing to talking about his loneliness and confusion over how Dean's acting, Punk bumbles through the week, feeling more tired, and more isolated than he has in a long time. Without the prospect of Dean's arms to comfort him, Punk sees little point in being in the motel room. He spends his time in the library, or in random coffee shops that give out free coffees to the homeless. Punk isn't entirely sure he counts as being _strictly_ homeless, but he's certainly not _homed_ , so he feels somewhat justified in taking those free coffees.

After almost a full week of being sent to this strange purgatory for reasons Punk can't even begin to guess at, he foolishly winds up at Scott's apartment, knocking on the door on the off chance the doctor's in.

"Punkers?" Scott looks haggard, wearing nothing but a loose pair of pyjama pants, and a sleep mask pushed up off his eyes and onto his forehead.

"I'm sorry... I-"

"In." Scott doesn't let Punk finish; instead, his hand curls around the back of Punk's neck, pulling him into the apartment. "The remote's on the arm of the couch, there's food in the fridge, you know where the bathroom is." He doesn't move his hand, and Punk stares at him in shock. He'd expected to be thrown out on his ear, not invited in and basically told to make himself at home. A strange intense expression crosses Scott's eyes, and Punk nervously licks his lips, drawing the doctor's attention to them. "I'm gonna be asleep till about seven, my shift starts at ten, if you wanna- No, nevermind." The doctor shakes his head, and lets Punk go. He turns to the little rack of hooks near the front door, and pulls one set of keys free. "These are for you. If you're going out lock the door behind you. The red one is the front door, blue's the basement. G'night." Scott holds the keys out to Punk, watching him carefully.

"You're not mad?" Punk's annoyed by how small his voice is, annoyed by how fragile he sounds, but that annoyance melts away at the look on Scott's face. That expression makes Punk feel small, makes him feel fragile, but it's not a bad feeling, it's far from a bad feeling. "I..."

"You wanna come up for a nap?" Scott's voice is a small and fragile as Punk's had been. As much as Punk knows he should refuse, he can't help himself from following along to Scott's bedroom, because it's been a week since he's been held, and the promise of sleeping in Scott's arms was in that timid question, a promise Punk's certain Scott won't break.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - VKxXx92, littleone1389, and**_ _ **Brokenspell77**_ _ **.**_

 _Let me reiterate the many thanks you three wonderful people you. I'm incredibly grateful that all three of you have been consistent in providing me with your thoughts. If it wasn't for you guys I'm certain I'd have stopped posting this, so thank you. :-*_

 _PSA: Next chapter will be next month - around the 15th._

 **I cannot stress this enough - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	10. 10

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Slash (Reigns/Ambrose), Mild Smut, AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells.**_

* * *

 _I'll let you know when we need your services again. - Roman Reigns_

Secrets aren't things Dean has ever really kept from Punk. Secrets are the domain of scurriers, and Dean isn't a scurrier, or at least he wasn't a scurrier. He's hovering around the fringes of the scurrying world, picking up their bad habits. Bad habits like secrets, like lying, or at least hiding the truth. He can't tell Punk that he's not got work tomorrow, he can't Punk that he's not going to have money coming in for reasons he doesn't know. He's no idea what Roman's playing at, but he has sneaking suspicions, sneaking ideas that his boss, _former_ boss maybe, isn't happy that Dean in no uncertain terms turned him down. There's only one solution to this that Dean can see, and that is he has to go and talk to his boss. He has to explain how much he needs this job, he has to explain that he can't not have it, and he has to keep the negotiations, and the unstable future a secret from Punk.

"What is this?" Dean tosses his cell onto the desk Roman's sitting behind, fury making Dean feel twitchy but awareness of the precarious nature of this situation keeping him somewhat calm. Roman looks utterly unimpressed with Dean's bristling self-contained ire. All he does is pick up Dean's cell with two fingers, his eyebrow raising as a sneering smirk spreads over his lips.

"It appears to be a cell phone... A _cheap_ cell phone. " Roman sets the cell back down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches Dean pace.

" _I'll let you know when we need your services again._ " Dean knows the text by heart, he's read it a thousand times, he's panicked over it since it arrived. "I don't... I..." Dean trails off, staring almost helplessly at Roman. "I need this job... I need to ke-"

"For your _boyfriend_." Roman rolls his eyes, and uses one finger to nudge Dean's phone. "He's not much of anything though, is he? Kind of _rough_ around the edges, and really, lets face it, he'll forget all about you soon enough." The sneering smirk spreads over Roman's lips again. "He's got himself a doctor now-"

"How the fuck do you know about that?" Dean slams his hands onto the desk, his eyes narrowed, the desire to punch Roman in his smugly smirking mouth is _almost_ overwhelming.

"I have my ways." Roman shrugs, and taps Dean's phone once more. "A doctor is a little more interesting than a barely educated, homeless bar tender, especially for something like your boyfriend." Dean winces at Roman's words. The insults thrown at Dean stung, but they were nothing but the truth, the real insult was Roman calling Punk a _thing_. Punk is more than Roman could hope to be, he's no right to speak of Punk in that tone or those terms.

"I..." Dean sighs, and flops into the chair opposite Roman. "What do you want? I need to keep this job, I need money coming in."

"Until he leaves you, because we both know that as soon as he's got that doctor wrapped around his grimy little finger, he's going to go frolicking off into the sunset with the good Doctor Colton." Roman stands, and wanders around the desk to stand behind Dean, his hands rest heavily on Dean's shoulders. "He's not worth your time, Dean... On the streets I'm sure he was a good _fuckbuddy_ , but you're worth _so_ much more than a forgetful whore-"

" _Don't call him that._ " Dean had wanted it to be shout, had wanted his voice to be full of the venomous rage he can feel bubbling inside of him, but it'd been a soft little whisper, a mere murmur of misery rather than the righteous roar it should have been.

"He was a whore though, wasn't he?" Roman laughs softly. "A pretty good one from what I've heard, but a whore all the same. Nothing I'm saying isn't something you've thought yourself. He's going to leave you, it's just a matter of time. He's probably with the doctor right now. They're probably laughing at you and your pathetic attempts to keep him as we speak... I'd... No nevermind." Roman laughs softly, and squeezes Dean's shoulders.

"You'd?" Dean prompts, trying to keep his mind from drawing the image he'd seen one night, the image of Punk in the doctor's arms, the image of them hugging, no _embracing_. Punk _never_ lets anyone hold him but Dean, yet he was contentedly being held by the doctor in public, his face pressed against the doctor's neck, after Dean had retreated to the room they'd probably kissed. The strange scent of another person clinging to Punk every so often since that night the doctor had saved Punk's life has probably always been the scent of Dr Colton. Punk's more than likely not been out working, he's more than likely been out sucking the doctor off behind Dean's back, but it's okay, because Punk _always_ comes back to Dean. He can share Punk, just so long as he's getting most of Punk, he can live without having _all_ of him, so long as the majority of Punk is Dean's.

"I'd... Well, let's face it Dean, nothing I could say will sway you. You're _in love_ with your cheating little whore, and even if I were to offer to treat you the way you deserve, you'd never accept my... _Advances,_ shall we say?" Roman laughs softly, and leans down, his lips brushing Dean's hair. "There is, as I see it, only one way for me to get you into my bed, my darling, and that way is... Well, it's not what I _want_ , but it really is the only way to get you." Roman comes back around, and sits behind his desk once more. "You can keep this little job if, and only if, you sleep with me." Dean laughs, a sharp bark of laughter that almost seems to echo in the room. He has to be joking, there's no way Roman can be serious, but the look on his face is deadly serious, the air in the room is heavy with seriousness.

"You want me to have sex with you for this job?" Dean says slowly, realisation dawning on him slowly. "You want me to who-"

"I want you in general, but your _whore_ has you, so this is the only way I can show you the _depth_ of my attraction." Roman examines his nails with a affected air of disinterest, but Dean can see through the act all too clearly. He's serious about this, he wants Dean to fuck him, or be fucked by him, in order to keep this shitty little job. This shitty little job that keeps a roof over Dean's, and more importantly over Punk's, head. "Once your amnesiac whore runs off with his doctor, we can drop the pre-tense, but essentially, I want you to have sex with me regularly, and in return I'll let you keep the job here at the club."

"Punk ain't gonna-"

"We both know he is, Dean. _Come on!_ You, and no offence to you, but you're nothing on a doctor. Do you really think someone like _Punk_." Roman sneers Punk's name like it was offensive, like it was a terrible slur to the English language, and Dean winces at the sound of it. "Is going to pass up the opportunity to be kept in the lap of luxury? He's been the streets same as you, if you were in his shoes wouldn't you do the same thing? Wouldn't you be trying to milk dear, _sweet_ Dr Colton for all he was worth?" Dean shakes his head. He can't imagine being in Punk's shoes, he never has been able to imagine what it must be like for Punk, for there to be a hole where there should be a past, for there to be nothing but blank white pages where there should be chapter upon chapter of history. "You want him to be happy don't you?" Roman smiles softly, and Dean nods.

"All I want is for him to be happy." It's true, _so_ true. All Dean has ever wanted for Punk is his happiness. If it's not with Dean, if it's with the doctor, then he'll let him go. There's no way Dean will ever stand in the way of Punk's happiness, no matter where it's found.

"Then do this one little thing for him. You have sex with me, and your precious little Punk is happy." A broad smile settles over Roman's lips, and Dean finds himself staring down at the carpet. He can't find a good argument to counter Roman's words. He can't begin to work out how to explain that sleeping with Roman won't equate to Punk being happy. He can't really begin to explain that to himself, so how can he explain it to someone else. Everything Roman's said so far has made sense, every doubt Dean's had about Punk and the doctor's relationship, every doubt he's had about his and Punk's relationship, Roman's covered, he's showed them as problems solved by sleeping with him.

Dean spends his shift in a strange kind of haze, he contemplates calling Punk a thousand times, but whenever he goes to dial, Roman's words come back to him. Punk would be so much better off with the doctor. He'd have somewhere warm and safe to live, somewhere that's not likely to be lost because of one missed paycheque. He'd be with someone stable, someone who knows him, someone who could help him remember who he was, someone who could heal him. Those thoughts keep Dean from dialling, they keep him working, and thinking about fucking Roman. He's not sure if he's dreading or almost looking forward to it. Roman's not unattractive. If it wasn't for Punk, Dean would probably jump at the chance to have sex with such a good looking guy, but there is Punk, and there is the love Dean has for him, and there is this horrible mire of lies surrounding the whole thing. It's the sort of mess that would never happen on the streets, the sort of mess only scurriers would get themselves into, and Dean's furious with himself for being in this position, but there's nothing he can do about it.

Roman smiles when Dean shuffles into the back room, a big indulgent _feline_ smile. The sort of smile that makes Dean feel weirdly unwell.

"So..." Dean's fingers go to the shirt of his uniform, starting to unbutton it.

"Dean, do you think I'm some kind of animal?" Roman laughs, and tosses Dean an expensive looking bag. "Get changed, we're going to eat, then I'll take you home." Roman's smile bleeds into a leer, and Dean glances into the bag. Inside is an expensive looking set of clothes, and he swallows thickly. It seems Roman wants to dress him up and show him off before fucking him.

"I'll just go-"

"Here. Get changed for me here." Roman steeples his fingers under his chin, and smirks. Dean changes efficiently, despite knowing Roman was probably hoping for a strip tease of sorts. He's too nervous for seduction, too nervous for anything but this to be over with. Roman laughs once Dean's dressed, and takes the bag, now with Dean's uniform in it, from him. "Work on that, okay?" Dean nods dumbly, and follows along behind him. "So, I wasn't too sure where would be open this late, so I'm afraid that when I said we're going to eat, I just meant to Seth's place." Roman smiles, and takes Dean's hand. "I want you to do a good job of convincing him we're happy together. He doesn't know about our little arrangement, and well, I don't think he needs to, does he?" Dean shakes his head, and Roman squeezes his hand firmly. "Does he?"

"No, Roman, this is between you and me." This is for Punk, Dean adds silently to himself. The lies he's telling are racking up, and he can feel something dark solidifying in the pit of his stomach. This isn't what he wanted for his life off the streets. He'd wanted to find somewhere to keep Punk safe, he'd wanted to find a job to earn enough money to keep Punk safe, he'd wanted to keep Punk. He'd never wanted to be someone's whore off the streets, it was bad enough on them, but off them Dean had wanted to be Punk's and Punk's alone.

Dinner with Seth is as short as it is easy. It was scarily easy to fall into the role of being Roman's lover, easy to laugh off the brief mention of Punk Seth made, easy to say that Punk had decided to move on, easy to lie about Punk and the doctor being together. Saying it hadn't hurt as much as Dean had expected it to, it'd felt more like simply stating a fact than he'd wanted it to. It's easy to picture Punk curled up in the doctor's arms, easy to see them happy together, easy and Dean almost thinks inevitable. Roman was right, if their roles were reversed Dean would jump at the security dating a doctor would offer, he'd cling for all he was worth to such a valuable saviour. At least that's what Dean keeps telling himself, even as he follows Roman up the steps to his home, Dean keeps telling himself that Punk will be better off with the doctor, and Dean only needs to do this for as long as it takes Punk to leave him. Punk won't stay, he can't stay, not with Dean cheating on him, not with Dean having to lie to him, not with Dean betraying him like this.

Roman doesn't wait long before pouncing on Dean, kissing him forcefully, pulling at Dean's hair, pushing him back against the solid wood door. His hands are big, far bigger than Punk's and he touches Dean in all the wrong places, clumsily fumbling where Punk moves with confidence. Dean reacts as though it pleases him though, he acts as though Roman's caress is enjoyable, arousing even, arching into the hand that gropes roughly down his back.

"C'mon, upstairs." Roman rumbles in his ear, and Dean doesn't bother answering. He thinks that Roman more than likely doesn't care if he answers or not, so long as he follows.

The bedroom is vast, the bed positioned centrally, so large it overpowers the entire room. Dean fidgets slightly, and Roman presses himself to Dean's back. "Take these off more interestingly than you put them on." Dean nods dumbly as he watches Roman strip off his clothes quickly and throw himself onto the bed. The sound of a lube bottle opening might only be a soft little pop of sound in normal circumstances, but in that room it's impossibly loud. Strip teases aren't something Dean's well versed in, and in all honesty he feels like a liar gyrating for Roman's entertainment, but he looks entertained. His dark eyes are riveted to Dean's movements, hungrily running over the skin Dean's slowly revealing. "C'mere." Roman beckons him closer once Dean's naked, and draws him into a kiss. There's a part of Dean that's enjoying it, but there's always that part of him that loses itself to the feel of another person. That little part is all but drowned out by the shrieking of the rest of his mind. The parts of him that are distraught that Dean is allowing someone who isn't Punk to touch him, to kiss him, all without the exchange of money. There's an exchange going on here, but it's not of money, it's of security. Dean makes the sacrifice of his body, and Punk can remain safe and secure, at least until he leaves. Roman's reasoning still resonates in Dean's mind. Roman's words struck deep chords in him, deep well buried chords that had been slowly being revealed over the time Punk's ben visiting with the doctor, and are now resonating to the tune of Roman's words.

"Roman, I-"

"Shh." Roman doesn't let Dean talk, instead he presses Dean down to the bed and starts prepping his ass. It's slow and teasing, and under the right circumstances Dean would be enjoying this, but its not the right circumstances, it's so far from them that it's all Dean can do to keep from shuddering. "Touch yourself, think of your cheating whore... Whatever you need to do to enjoy this, do it." Roman mutters as he nips at Dean's neck, and slowly penetrates him. "I want you to come. In time you'll come from just me, but if you need to use your imagination right now, that's okay." Roman presses a kiss to Dean's temple, and Dean keeps his eyes closed. In his mind he's not thinking of Punk, he can't dirty Punk with this act. In his mind he's thinking of nothing in particular. He's trying to summon up something arousing, something to get him off. Thankfully, as Roman speeds up, the simulation to Dean's prostate increases. His cock fills, and his own orgasm isn't as impossibly difficult to find as he'd expected. He manages to come, and Roman seems content enough.

Once the deed is done, Dean can't stick around. Roman has already casually dismissed him, or at least that's what Dean takes rolling over and saying goodbye meant. He can't imagine it was an offer to stay the night, not that he wants to though. He wants to go back to the dingy little motel room, and curl around Punk's sleeping body. He wants to hold Punk close, and lose himself in the feeling of Punk in his arms.

When he arrives at the motel, Punk's asleep, the blankets pulled up to his nose, curled up on his side, the space behind him vast and inviting, but Dean can't step any nearer to him. The thought of laying in bed with Punk, of being so close to him whilst he can still feel the ghost of Roman over him, _inside_ of him makes him feel sick, and Dean retreats to the shower. As he staggers more than anything out of the bathroom, Punk's eyes fix him in place.

"Hey Punk... I didn't mean to wake you." Dean presses his back against the wall. He feels exposed without a shirt, dressed as he is in only some threadbare boxers.

"You're back late." Punk smiles softly, and throws the covers off from Dean's side of the bed. "C'mon, come to bed, and you can tell me all about your exciting adventures at work tomorrow." Punk yawns, and flops back down. Dean stays where he is, and considers how long it'll take Punk to fall back asleep, and how likely it is that he'll be able to sleep in the chair. He can't sleep next to Punk, he can't sully Punk with this _thing_ with Roman. Dean had once told himself that he wanted to be a hero for Punk, and in some ways that's what this is, though in that moment he doesn't feel all that heroic.

The whole week is a repeat of the same, and the longer it goes on, the more Dean feels empty. It's as though the lies are kicking out all of who Dean is, and leaving nothing but this strange emptiness inside of him. He burns to hold Punk, but he can't, so he doesn't. He can see it hurts Punk, can see it in a million tiny and huge ways, but there's nothing to be done. Dean has to do this, and Punk will never know the hows, or the whys of it, but it'll be okay, because Punk will go to the doctor. In the end Punk will be safe, and that is _all_ that matters.

The motel room is empty when Dean gets back, and there's a part of him that's not surprise. It's been a week since this _deal_ with Roman started. A week of fucking Roman, and tomorrow he has a day off, but Punk's not there. A week of ignoring him, a week of coming back late, and sneaking out early, a week of coming home, and scrubbing himself in the shower, of sleeping on the chair because he can't bear to lay by Punk whilst knowing he's been fucked by another man. A week where Dean's _ached_ for Punk, to hold him, to kiss him, to touch him even, but he can't. Every time Dean thinks of laying a hand on Punk, he thinks of Roman moving inside of him, of Roman's hands in his hair, of Roman's tongue in his mouth, and he feels off. Not sick, like Dean wants to feel, but not himself. He feels sullied, dirty in a way that sleeping with a client never made him feel. He doesn't _hate_ sleeping with Roman, he mostly hates that he's sleeping with him under these circumstances. He hates lies, hates how much like a scurrier he feels, hates how much he's pushed Punk away in just one short week. He drags himself to the shower, and tries very hard to not think about where Punk might be, tires very hard to not picture how he must be curled up safe and warm with his doctor. For all he hates the idea, Dean can't shake the inevitability of Punk leaving him, because it feels inevitable at this stage.

Once out of the shower, Dean flops onto the bed, his eyes drifting closed when the cell phone chirps. He imagines it'll be Roman, he hopes it'll be Punk, he does not expect who it actually is.

 _Are you in your motel room, Mr Ambrose? I would like to talk to you. - Dr Scott Colton_

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - Moiself, VKxXx92, grleviathan,xXDanceGirlXx, Brokenspell77, littleone1389,**_ _ **and roksand.**_

 _It's short... I know, I'm sorry for that. I thank you for your patience, and understanding with this fic. ^-^ Real life has been tough lately, the highspots few and far between, and your reviews are one of those, each and every review is like a single ray of sunshine in the overcast day that has been my existence. I'll aim to get another chapter out for the 29th. Once more, thank you for your unspoken and presumed patience._

 **I cannot stress this enough - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	11. 11

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Slash (Reigns/Ambrose), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells.**_

* * *

There should have been a moment when Punk was lying pressed against Scott's side where he felt _wrong_ , or at least uncomfortable, but he didn't. He'd fallen fast asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow, the warmth of another person beside him had lulled him to sleep so quickly Punk hadn't even had time to dwell on the fact that person wasn't Dean.

"Hey, you're gonna have to wake up, Punkers." Scott's voice drifts through the dreams Punk was having, soft quiet dreams he can't remember once he's blinking sleep from his eyes.

"Time to get up?" Punk mutters as he lets go of Scott's arm. At some stage during their nap, Punk had curled himself around Scott. There's a part of him that's cripplingly embarrassed about that, but there's another part that's caught by how normal it'd felt.

"Well, I should get up soon..." Scott doesn't make a move to get out of bed, and Punk without thinking snuggles closer to him once more.

"I remember this." Punk says suddenly, and Scott glances over at him, shock on his face.

" _What_?" He almost breathes the question, and Punk laughs, his laughter growing slightly hysterical as he realises just how true that statement was. He _does_ remember this. He _remembers_ lying in a bed beside Scott, remembers the bed being smaller, the comforter thinner, the mattress lumpier, the room smelling slightly of dirty laundry and ramen noddles.

"I remember lying beside you in bed... I _think_ it must be from college... I remember something." Punk murmurs once his laughter has subsided. "I can't believe I _remember_ something." He can feel a grin on his face, and Scott's staring at him.

"Tell me, what exactly do you remember, Punkers?" He's carefully not looking at Punk, and a sharp spike of annoyance pricks Punk in that moment. He wants Scott to look at him, he wants his attention for this important moment. Punk has _never_ remembered anything from before the accident. This is _huge_ , and he wants it to be witnessed properly. He reaches over, and turns Scott's face to him.

"I remember a bed, a narrow, lumpy mattressed bed. I remember the smell of laundry that needs washing, and ramen... Beef I think. I remember... I remember you beside me. I remember you wore some cheap cologne, or spray... _Axe_ maybe. I remember talking about you leaving to go to work in some faraway hospital, I remember being _furious_ , but saying I was happy for you. You didn't believe me though. You..." Punk closes his eyes, trying to drag as much of the memory up as he can. "Your hand was on my cheek, and you said... I don't remember what... It was quiet, _sad_. I remember that. You sounded _so_ sad, Colt, like saying whatever it was you said broke your heart, and I was so angry, but I didn't do anything, I just lay there... There were holes in the ceiling... Little holes." Punk rubs his eyes with his knuckles, and keeps trudging through the empty spaces of his memory, trying to piece together more of that moment. "Darts! The holes were from darts, I'd... No, not me, someone else, I don't know who, would throw them up at the ceiling, and sometimes they'd fall out, and once one got stuck in someone's head... Someone one _tall_... Blond maybe... I don't-"

"Doesn't matter. The bed, us... What else do you remember?" Scott cuts in, and Punk opens his eyes, looking over at him, and is caught by the intense expression on Scott's face.

"I love you." Punk whispers, and Scott closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "You said... _I_ said that... _We_ said it, but you left me... But that's not the last thing I remember..." Punk moves closer, his nose brushing Scott's. "I remember what happened before you left me that night, Colt." Punk leans in to kiss him, but Scott's hands grasp his shoulders, pushing him away gently.

"No." Scott gets out of the bed, and Punk forces himself to sit up. He can feel an old fury in the pit of his stomach, the memory of something painfully similar happening years ago, but that time he'd gotten his kiss.

"Why?" He thinks there should be more of an edge to his voice, but it's soft, a plaintive whisper instead of the roar he'd have liked it to be.

"You..." Scott rubs a hand over his face, and levels Punk with a calm gaze. "You're not Phil. Not matter how much I want you to be, you're not _my_ Punkers... You have his face, you have something of him, but you're not, and that's okay. It's okay. Fuck, it'll be okay." Scott leaves the bedroom, and Punk stays where he is. He should go. He's ruined this too. Dean's pushed him away, and now he's pushed Scott away too.

He drags himself downstairs, almost colliding with Scott who's standing at the bottom of them. He doesn't say anything, instead he stares at Punk something wounded in his expression. Punk stares back. He feels odd in a way he can't explain, and he's incredibly grateful when Scott wraps him up in an embrace.

"Your Dean's, not mine... I left you. I let you go. I _had_ to, Punkers... It... Fuck. _Fuck_." Scott hiss softly into Punk's ear, his arms holding him tightly. "Too... I've never known, but it was _always_ too something." He finishes, and Punk doesn't know what to do other than wrap his arms around Scott and hold him just as tightly.

"I was angry... I was scared, hurt... I don't think you leaving me was all of it, but I _know_ it was part of it. I don't remember anything but the bed, but you kissing me... I-"

"Punk." Scott presses his face against Punk's neck, and a warmth trickles through him, old familiar warmth.

"You used to hug me a lot, and it hurt you, but you did it for me cause I wanted it, _needed_ it, didn't you?" Punk thinks he sounds a shade too smug, and Scott laughs softly.

"You remember that, or did you just work it out?" There's a wry edge to Scott's voice, and Punk chuckles slightly, squeezing Scott tighter. "I did... I've always been a masochist for you." He laughs, and lets Punk go. "I'm making breakfast. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need, Punkers." Punk's a little surprised by Scott using the nickname for him. He'd expected to never hear it again, it clearly hurts Scott call him that, it hurts Scott for Punk to call him _Colt_ , but Punk thinks stopping that will be difficult.

"Sco-"

"Colt, Punkers... Call me Colt." Scott takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly, a smile spreading over his lips, a smile that makes Punk's stomach turn with something unfeasibly light. "It's what you've always called me, isn't it?"

It surprises Punk how little tension there is over breakfast, and it's aftermath. He volunteered to wash the dishes, which had turned out to be a little more complicated than he'd expected, but he'd eventually worked out where to put the cleaned dishes once they were dry. Scott had left for work, and Punk had spent the rest of the day watching TV. He'd gone to bed late on the off chance he'd be able to stay awake until Scott got back, but he'd called it quits when it turned four, and there was no sign of the doctor. He'd not been sure if he should take liberties and sleep in Scott's bed again, but the idea of sleeping alone hadn't appealed to Punk, so he'd slinked off to Scott's bed, hoping he wouldn't mind too much.

When Punk wakes up the next morning, he's once more curled around Scott's arm, and there's a lazy part of him that wants to stay where he is, but he thinks he should go back to the motel room. He should go and see Dean at least. He might be able to get some answers out of him as to why he's been so distant this last week. Before last week they'd been as close as ever, and Punk really understand what's happened to drive a wedge between them.

"You look like you're thinking very hard about something unpleasant." Scott comments mildly, and Punk nods.

"Dean... When I showed up the other day, it was because he's barely spoken to me for a week. No kisses, no cuddles, no touching, _nothing_." Punk sighs, and Scott frowns.

"I was so late back because I went to see him." It's not a confession Punk had been expecting. "I wanted to know why you were with me when you should be with him."

"What did he say?" Punk stares at Scott, willing the information he has to be imparted to him quickly. Scott sighs heavily.

"He said not much of anything. He..." Scott lets Punk go, and sits up. "He thinks you're going to leave him. He... I don't know him well, Punkers, so I couldn't get a good read of him. He seemed... _Fidgety_ like he wanted to be somewhere else, or with someone else, and that someone else is undoubtedly you." Scott smiles at Punk, and he ducks his head.

"Yeah." Punk can't keep the smile from his face, and he feels guilty about it for reasons he doesn't want to look too closely at. "I'm gonna head to the motel." Punk slips out of bed, and starts fixing the comforter, tucking it up to Scott's chin. "I'll give you a call before I come visit again." Before Scott can answer Punk presses a quick kiss to his forehead, and leaves the bedroom, then the apartment as quickly as he can.

He's nearly back to the motel when a voice calls out to him.

"Punk!" He turns and stares at the man running up to him. The other one of Dean's bosses, and Punk isn't sure why he's there, or what he could want. "Hey!" The man grins, and takes Punk's hand, shaking it without Punk's consent or involvement. "It's good to see you again. Why don't you let me get you breakfast?"

"I was just-"

"C'mon, I know this really nice place not far from here, _and_ I'll pay." The man grins, and doesn't let go of Punk' hand, instead he starts walking, tugging Punk along with him.

The little restaurant they arrive at isn't far, and Punk knows it's nice because it's one of the few that keep drinks on tab for homeless people. He's been here numerous times over the last week. Dean's other boss takes a seat, and grins up at Punk.

"It's Seth." He laughs, and Punk nods awkwardly. He's hoping he can remember the name for the duration of this little _breakfast_. "I'm glad you came with me, Punk." Seth smiles broadly, and Punk nods slightly at him, thinking that he hadn't had much choice in coming, Seth had almost literally dragged him there. The first time he'd met Seth there'd an unnerved feeling in the pit of Punk's stomach. It's not that he doesn't like Seth, it's more that he doesn't trust him, and he can't see a way of that changing. It's not like with Roman, where Punk knew from the first moment that he didn't like the man, with Seth it's different. It's not dislike, it's more like a creeping unease, like there's something behind the vague pleasantries, something bitter, something that riles Punk up.

"Yeah..." Punk takes a seat, and fidgets with the flower in the vase on the tabletop. "So, what-"

"Order something, _anything_ , my treat." Seth taps the menu, and Punk almost refuses, but it seems like that would be rude. He's not mastered social cues, but he knows that there are some things you have to do even if you don't want to, and he thinks that having a coffee with Seth might be one of them. When the waitress comes over, Punk orders the cheapest breakfast on the menu, and a ridiculous coffee he's always wanted to try. Seth seems amused at Punk's decisions, his own order is something far more _sophisticated_ of that Punk has no doubts.

"Thank you for this, but I don't-"

"I wanted to talk to you, Punk." Seth fidgets, and looks out of the window. "How are things with you and Dean?" Punk can feel the blood drain from his face.

"Alright." He mutters, and busies himself with eating the food the waitress just placed on the table.

" _Really_? Cause he's been... I dunno, maybe it's nothing, but he's seemed distracted at work this last week, and I thought maybe you'd know something... I thought maybe you'd gotten more sick, or something." Seth smiles awkwardly, and Punk shakes his head.

"I... I've been okay." He sighs, and supposes that there's no real harm in telling Seth that Dean's been distant at home too. "But Dean... He's not been himself lately." Punk mutters, and Seth makes a soft triumphant noise.

"I _knew_ it." He smirks, and Punk stares at him strangely. "Eat up, Punk." Seth smirks, and starts playing with his phone. Punk eats quickly, wanting to be away from Seth, wanting to find Dean and talk to him, to ask him what's going on, because there is something going on, this strange encounter has confirmed that if nothing else.

"Thank you for breakfast." Punk stands to leave. The entire time they'd been eating Seth hadn't acknowledged him, and Punk has the awful feeling he's done something incredibly stupid in not refusing this breakfast.

"When you get back to your roach box, check Dean's phone, read his messages. You can read, right?" Seth doesn't look up, and Punk feels a sharp stab of annoyance at the insult, but he holds his tonggue. He leaves the little restaurant, with an acidic taste in his mouth, and humiliation burning in his gut. He's been played somehow, and he doesn't know how or why. He wants to, and he thinks the only person who can help him is Dean.

 _You were so good last night, babe. Don't tire yourself out with your whore. - Roman Reigns_

 _I can't wait to fuck you again, darling. - Roman Reigns_

 _Fuck... I can't get you out of my head. Last night was incredible. Your ass should win prizes. - Roman Reigns_

 _You okay, Deano? You seemed down earlier. Go fuck your whore between morning and night shift. If the whore doesn't make it better, I will. ;) - Roman Reigns._

The messages are dated the first time Dean came back incredibly late, left incredibly early, and barely looked at Punk, never mind touch him. It hurts. The other messages are more of the same, Dean it seems doesn't text much in reply, or deletes his responses, but there are dozens of messages from Roman, explicit messages, sweet messages, messages intended to solely put Punk down, messages that leave him feeling sick, and wanting to throw the phone against the wall. Dean's cheating on him. He should have expected it really, but it's still a surprise, still a shock. Dean had once said that Punk was all he couldn't lose, Punk had responded with the only way Dean would be rid of him was to give him away. Maybe that's why Dean's never seemed all that interested in what Punk's been learning from Scott. Maybe his disinterest had been Dean's way of discarding Punk. Maybe he's been wanting rid of Punk for longer. Maybe the reason the first doctor at the clinic had never diagnosed his MRSA infection was because Dean had told him not to. Maybe he'd been hoping for Punk to die out on the streets.

" _Baby_?" Dean's voice breaks through Punk's thoughts, stratling him, leaving him frozen like a rabbit in headlights. "You're home." Dean steps forward, a look on his face that Punk doesn't want to recognise, but he does. It's the look Dean _always_ gives him, the look that says Punk's the centre of his world. In that moment Punk wants to forget the texts, and collapse into Dean's arms. He's missed Dean, has missed the familiar safety of his embrace, but there's something on Dean's neck. A deep, dark, mottled mark. A hickey. Punk tosses the phone onto the bed, and rubs his eyes, hoping the mark was a trick of the light. Dean's closer now, his hands almost on Punk, but the mark is clearer. Punk steps back, and around, and out. He can't stay in the motel room. Dean has given him away, _thrown_ him away really, and so Punk should go.

"Punkers?" Scott looks confused, but he does usher Punk into the apartment. "It's three a.m. Wh-"

"Can I stay?" Punk mutters, rubbing at his arms furiously. He's cold. He shouldn't have been out walking all day. He should have confronted Dean with what he found out, but he couldn't. When he'd faced Dean all he could do was stare, wondering why he thought he could have Dean, and Scott, and a life where he wasn't on the streets. He should have known better. He should have just waved Seth's words aside. He shouldn't have looked at the cell phone, and found evidence of Dean's infidelity. He shouldn't have expected Dean's fidelity in the first place. He should have known that he wasn't worth staying faithful to. He should have known Dean would leave him as soon as someone who's not a mess showed some interest. He should have known that alone is how he's supposed to be.

"Of course... Punkers, you don't need to ask that. C'mon... You look half-frozen. Go shower, get warmed up, and I make you some chocolate." Only alone might not be that way he's supposed to be. It might be that in this apartment is where he should be. It might be that with Scott gently helping him is where he belongs.

"Colt." Punk murmurs as he steps into the apartment, and closes the door behind him. "You're still wearing your coat." Scott stops, and huffs a quiet laugh.

"I just got back from a shift... It's why I look like shit." He grins over at Punk, his fingers twitching slightly, and he stoops to untie his shoes to give himself something to do with them. "I should take your coat too, huh?" The doctor seems overly focused on shoe removal, and Punk toes his own off quickly, then hangs his coat up by Scott's recently removed own.

"You take the shower first." Punk offers his hand to Scott, and there's a brief moment of hesitation on the doctor's part before he takes it, squeezing lightly before he lets go.

"You're a guest, my mother would be beside herself if I didn't look after you... _I'd_ be beside myself if I didn't look after you." Scott's hand very briefly, very lightly, brushes over Punk's cheek, and he turns away from Punk, starting up the stairs. "C'mon! I'll look you out some pjs."

Showering in the apartment is less strange this time, but that might be because Punk had managed to persuade Scott to stay in the bathroom with him. The doctor opted to brush his teeth, then ramble about his shift. Punk wasn't really paying attention to what was being said, rather he was listening to the sound of Scott's voice mixing with the sound of the shower. It's strange how comforting hearing another person is, strange how comforting just knowing there's someone on the other side of the thin sheet of plastic, someone who cares, someone who wants to stay, someone who's Scott. Punk shakes his head, chasing the rambling thoughts from his brain, and focussing on what Scott's saying.

"Then we removed the dinosaur, and gave her some pills for the pain... Seriously, you'd not believe the stuff we find up people's assholes." Scott laughs, and Punk pokes his head out from behind the curtain.

"You're shitting me?" He's entirely sure Scott had been making that up to test if Punk was listening or not.

"I shit you not. Today I pulled a toy dinosaur from a woman's butt." Scott looks entirely solemn, and Punk still isn't sure if he's being lied to. "You don't believe me, I got sent a photo of her x-ray." He grins, and pulls his cell phone from his pocket. "Here, look." The photo on the screen does appear to confirm Scott's story, and Punk stares at for a few seconds before dissolving into laughter. "I should delete this... It violates all kinds of privacy laws." Scott mutters, the grin still on his face.

"Yeah... But... It's fucking hilarious. How'd it even get up there in the first place?" Punk slips back behind the curtain to finish washing, rinsing the last of the bubbles from his skin.

"She claimed she fell and it just _slipped_ up there. Total bullshit, but you can't really tell people that you don't care what they do for kicks, but sticking toy dinosaurs up your ass is a bad idea no matter what." Scott's voice is further away, and Punk supposes he's at the door. "There's a towel for you on the toilet, and something for you to wear there too... I've no idea if the pants'll fit you in the waist. You're still too skinny, Punkers." The door closes behind him, and Punk shuts off the shower, then proceeds to get dried and dressed.

"Bathroom's free." He calls out, but only the soft sounds of a shower running in another room offers him a reply. Punk shakes his head, and feels slightly foolish, he shouldn't be surprised that this apartment has more than one bathroom. He wanders down to the living room, and glances at the shoebox on the table. There are still several photos he's not looked at yet, but he doesn't think he can face them. He's not in the mood to try and learn about the past, not when the present is so painful. Besides, his past has been something he's been neglecting as of late, tomorrow he'll have to try harder to work out who he was. If nothing else, the mystery of Phil will distract him from the misery of being Punk.

"Hey." Scott shaking his shoulder wakes Punk from the catnap he was having on the sofa, leaving him blinking owlishly at the doctor. "C'mon, I can show you to the spare room, or-."

"Colt... Can I-"

"C'mon." Scott doesn't let him finish. For a moment Punk's certain that Scott was going to deny him sleeping in his bed again. The offer of a spare empty room, or sleeping in Scott's bed, for a moment Punk thought Scott would have preferred to sleep alone, but he interrupted Punk so quickly, and leads him to the bedroom, so maybe he'd hoped Punk would choose to sleep with him again all along. "Pick a side." He waves at the bed, and Punk turns to him, gratitude plain on his face. There's no way Punk can face being alone tonight, no way he'll manage without someone by him, it's either sleeping here with Scott, or trying to find a client, and Punk can't face the thought of sex. He wants to be safe, he wants to be warm, he wants to be held.

They settle into bed, Punk taking the left as he usually did when he slept with Dean. Not that it matters he did with Dean anymore, anything with Dean doesn't matter anymore. Dean made his decision, and he decided that Roman with his luscious locks, ripped body, and own business were a better choice than Punk. Scruffy, skinny, struggling Punk. Punk who was with him on the streets. Punk who Dean claimed to love. Punk who Dean held close whether they ate or starved. Punk who Dean saved from death. Punk who loved Dean completely, but still wasn't good enough for him. Punk who he threw away.

"Shh..." Punk hadn't realised he'd started crying until Scott's arms wrap around him, holding him tightly. "Whatever it is, it'll be okay."

"Someone else." Punk manages to gasp out between gut-wrenching sobs. "He's cheating."

"Dean?" Scott sounds bewildered, and Punk buries his face against Scott's chest. He can feel his tears soaking Scott's shirt, but there's nothing much he can do about it. The tears won't stop, and Scott seems perfectly content to hold him tightly whilst he cries.

It feels like hours later, _lifetimes_ later, but eventually Punk stops crying, instead he lies still in Scott's arms, feeling the gentle caresses down his back.

"It'll be okay, won't it?" Punk whispers, and Scott chuckles softly. Punk wants to, but can't bring himself to bristle at that laugh. It's a stupid hope that this mess will be alright. Dean's fucking his boss, his tall, handsome, charming boss. Punk was never good enough for him, and now Dean's realised that. It'll be okay for Dean and Roman, they'll ride off into the sunset together, they'll be happy together, but Punk will be alone. The one thing he fears the most will happen once more, he'll be abandoned again. One of Scott's hands comes up to cant Punk's face up so Scott can meet his eyes.

"It'll be how it's going to be. I don't know if it'll be okay or not, but I _do_ know that you'll be okay. You're strong, Punkers... _You'll_ be okay." There's a conviction in Scott's voice that Punk wishes he felt, a strength that he wishes he could feel.

"I... Don't lemme go." Punk buries his face against Scott's shoulder, and a quietly murmured _never_ is the last thing Punk hears before he falls asleep.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - Moiself, grleviathan, alizabethianrose, Brokenspell77, VKxXx92, Guest, alicia,**_ _ **2Lazy2SSignIn, and Rebellecherry.**_

 _So this is a little quicker than I was expecting - life remains profoundly confusing and complicated, but no one's here for my nonsense. Next update I'll tentatively say will be 2015/10/11 - I think we'll aim for once every fortnight._

 **I cannot stress this enough - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	12. 12

_Warnings: Mild Slash (Ambrose/Punk) (Reigns/Ambrose) (Cabana/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells.**_

* * *

The knock at the door is a surprise. There's a hopeful part of Dean that wants it to be Punk, that the reason Punk's not in the room is because he's forgotten his key, but there's a more realistic part of him that knows it's the doctor. He can't help but wonder what Dr Colton wants to talk about. It has to be a simple conversation to let Dean know that Punk's gone. The idea that Punk won't come and tell Dean that himself hurts, but Dean would understand if that's how Punk has decided to play this. The last week he's been distant with Punk, but he couldn't bring himself to close that distance. He's tainted, coated in the lies of being a scurrier. Punk deserves better, and it seems he's realised it. It's better for the doctor to come and explain, better for Dean's last memory of Punk to be him fast asleep, curled up safe and warm, a far better image than whatever their last meeting might entail.

"Mr Ambrose? Dean?" The doctor knocks again, and Dean sighs, wearily getting up from the bed to open the door.

"What?" The doctor smiles in the face of Dean's bland irritation, a broad smile that makes Dean want to punch him.

"Can I come in?" He asks softly, and Dean steps aside. It's better that his heart is broken behind closed doors.

"What?" Dean asks again. He can't seem to form any thing even close to a real sentence. He can't bring himself to be _polite_ to the doctor.

"You know, that's kind of why I'm here." The doctor takes a seat in the one chair, and sets a takeaway bag down on the table. "I brought you food. I had the feeling you'd not have eaten, and looking at you, I'd say it's for a few days... Coffee too." The doctor tosses Dean a wrapped sub. "Here." He holds out a paper cup of coffee that Dean accepts warily. He perches on the bed, and watches the doctor start eating.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Dean snaps once he's half-way finished with the food. It's a good roll, he's at once annoyed, and grateful for it. If the doctor is here to tell him Punk's gone, he'd rather be told quickly. He can't take this anticipation of the inevitable.

"What's going on?" The doctor stretches his legs out, and rubs at one of his eyes with his knuckle. "Punkers isn't here, and we both know that he belongs with you." There's nothing but plain honesty on the doctor's face, and Dean distracts himself with eating some more.

"I don't know that." Dean sighs, once he's eaten his sandwich. "I've... I don't know that he _belongs_ to or with anyone, himself included... He's not anyone, not a real anyone at least, and you need to be to _belong_. He's all blank pages, and mysteries." Dean's sure that came out wrong but the doctor makes a thoughtfully agreeing noise.

"Blank pages, and mysteries are the way he's always been." The doctor smiles fondly, and he tosses his empty sandwich wrapper in the trash.

"Even Phil?" Dean mutters, and the doctor laughs with a nod.

" _Always_." The fond look comes back into his eyes, and Dean takes a sip of his coffee to distract himself from asking questions. He's always wanted to know what Punk was learning about himself, but it seemed important to let Punk have his past, to only get what Punk chose to share, rather than force him into giving the little he has back away again. "I was thinking the other day about how I've no idea how he paid for college... I've no idea where he'd go sometimes... He'd be gone for days, and I never knew where."

"Did he come back okay?" Dean stares at the doctor, something odd settling in the pit of his stomach. Vanishing for days to pay for college, money for Punk's time, or as Dean has a sneaking suspicion money for his body.

"Yeah... He came back fine... You think he was prostituting himself too?" The doctor seems to be trying to look at anywhere but Dean, so the slight nod Dean gave in response to the question was worthless.

"It's likely..." Dean mutters, and the doctor nods.

"Yeah... I always thought so." He takes another drink of his coffee, and Dean finds himself studying the doctor more closely. He looks tired, worn out, and worn down. He should be at home asleep, not here talking to Dean.

"What happened between you?" The doctor's head snaps up at Dean's question, something bitterly hurt in his expression.

"It doesn't matter." He snaps, and Dean scowls at him.

"You have a history, one Punk's learning more and more of every time he sees you. It's inevitable tha-"

"He's yours, you know that right?" The doctor says softly, and Dean shakes his head. An odd look crosses the doctor's face. "What? What is it you've done... No... _Still_ doing..." The doctor narrows his eyes slightly, and Dean baulks at him. He wonders if he's marked from what he's done with Roman. He pats at his neck self-consciously, Roman never marks him, never leaves signs he's been there, and for that Dean's grateful.

"He's with you, isn't he?" Dean mutters, and the doctor sighs. "He's not here, and he's not out there... _Please_ tell me he's not out there."

"I left him in my apartment earlier. He should still be there... Come back with me? Come and see him... Punkers.. Punk would be happy to see you." Dean closes his eyes at the doctor's words, at the pet-name for Punk he used.

"I'm right here. If he wants to see me, he can come here." Dean rubs his eyes, and finishes the last of his coffee.

"You miss him... He misses you. I can take him home now." The doctor stands, and Dean bounces to his feet.

"You're a doctor. You knew him before... You can give him more, you can keep him safe... I damn near let him die-"

"I let him go." The doctor's eyes are clamped closed, his arms wrapped around himself as though cold. "I let him go... I let him go a _long_ time ago."

"He's going to leave me." Dean grasps the doctor's shoulders, shaking him lightly. "He's going to leave me and you're going to keep him safe. You have to."

"He's yours, Dean. Punk is yours... He _loves_ you." Doctor sounds so very firm, and Dean looks away. "He'll come home tomorrow, I promise." With that the doctor picks Dean's hands from his shoulders, and leaves. The cell phone chirps, and Dean's grateful there's no one there to see his wince.

 _I miss you, babe. - Roman Reigns_

 _Wanna grab breakfast tomorrow? - Roman Reigns_

 _Sure. - sent_

Roman sends back a time, and location that Dean notes, but doesn't care about. He just wants to sleep. The bed smells of Punk. The bed holds memories of Punk. From the first time they made love, to the last. This bed was there for both of those moments, and Dean wants one night to remember them.

When the morning comes, Dean showers and dresses mechanically. He's lost Punk. The doctor might have said that Punk loved him still, but Dean knows that Punk won't stay with him, not when there's a chance he could have a doctor. Punk's a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them, and staying with Dean would be stupid. He's a lying cheat, and Punk deserves more. Punk deserves a man who'll cherish him, a man who'll be faithful to him, a man who'll place him above all else and do _anything_ to keep him safe. Punk deserves a man who's not Dean.

"You look tired, babe." Roman laughs as Dean walks into the little bistro, and all but collapses on the chair. "Your who-"

"Don't." Dean snaps, and Roman has the grace to look contrite. "Not first thing in the morning, just let Punk rest." A waiter comes over, and sets a glass of water down in front of Dean.

"I already ordered." Roman grins, and Dean nods vaguely, downing the water quickly.

"Great." Dean offers blandly. He hopes this meal goes quickly. He hopes that Roman won't mention Punk again. He hopes that the doctor manages to persuade Punk to return to the motel. He hopes that he can wrap his arms around Punk and never be parted from him again. Last night had been painful. Lying in bed without Punk had almost been _physically_ painful. Dean knows that Punk will leave him, and when he does Dean hopes that he doesn't survive for much longer. He's certain that a life without Punk in it is one he doesn't want, and couldn't endure.

After breakfast Roman insists on driving Dean to the motel. One of his hands rests on Dean's thigh the entire journey, and Dean felt torn between ignoring it, and batting it off. He's not sure he's in the right frame of mind to deal with anything. He's avoiding thinking about last night. He's avoiding thinking about Punk being gone. He's avoiding thinking about sleeping in the bed he made love to Punk for the first time. He's avoiding thinking about how that is the same bed they made love for the last time. Mostly though he's avoiding thinking about Doctor Scott Colton, because Dean has nothing but questions on that front, questions he can only hope will be answered for Punk. The doctor is a mystery, and Dean isn't happy about that, but he's not happy about many things. All the things he's not thinking about because he knows they're going to hurt are all preventing him from being happy. At this rate Dean doubts he'll ever be happy again. Roman clears his throat loudly, and Dean turns to him in confusion.

"Sorry, I was miles away." Dean offers absently as he forces a half-hearted smile to his lips. The last thing he is is sorry, but Roman doesn't need to know that, though he probably wouldn't care if he did. How Dean actually feels isn't high on Roman's list of priorities.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow." Roman smiles, his hands framing Dean's face. He leans in for a kiss, then starts nipping down Dean's neck. As pleasant as Roman's ministrations are, there's always a voice in the back of Dean's mind that's reminding him that Roman is essentially a client. Roman is little more than a john and if Dean just _told_ Punk what was going on it might be okay. If Dean explained that he was whoring himself out to keep them safe, Punk would understand because he's done the same thing so many times too, but that was on the streets. They're tentatively in the world of scurriers now. They're not whores any more, and the rules of the streets don't really apply. Dean made that decision. The doctor provided the seed money, and Dean's been supplementing it. He's paying for this situation, and he's bitterly resentful of all of it but the fact that Punk's now safe. Punk's safety is the _only_ thing that really matters in all of this.

"Don't mark me." Dean raps on the back of Roman's head when he notices the feeling of what hopefully won't be a hickey on his neck. Roman laughs, and laps at the spot once more.

"Tomorrow, babe." Dean gets out of the car, and braces himself for the walk back up to what will likely be an empty hotel room. Only the room isn't empty, Punk's standing with his back to the door, but he turns around quickly when he hears the door open.

" _Baby_?" Dean's eyes linger over Punk. He looks pale, his hands are shaking slightly as he clings to the cell phone. "You're home." Punk tosses the cell to rub at his eyes, and Dean takes a step forward. Punk _looks_ at him. There's something painfully wounded in Punk's eyes, something deeply hurt. There's a moment where Dean's certain that Punk is going to come to him, where he'll get to wrap his arms around Punk's waist and hold him tight, but it doesn't happen. Punk's eyes flicker to the side of Dean's neck, then he leaves. No words, no nothing, he just goes, and Dean touches the spot on his neck where Punk had been looking. He goes to the bathroom to look, to see what Punk had seen.

"What happened to your hand?" The next morning Seth sounds half amused, and half concerned. He keeps eyeing the crude bandaging on Dean's right hand cautiously. Dean doesn't answer him, instead he keeps working to clean the club, carefully not thinking about the shattered mirror in the motel bathroom, carefully not thinking about the hickey on his neck that he's got covered up with a turtle-neck that was probably once black, but now is some unidentifiable colour. "C'mon, seriously what happened?" Seth leans against the wall as Dean keeps focussed on trying to scrub one-handed.

"Nothing." He mutters, cursing the fact he'd punched with his right hand, picking out the glass hadn't been fun, wrapping it hadn't been easy, and if it wasn't for this club he'd never be in this position. Seth sighs awkwardly, and fidgets.

"I had brunch with your Punk yesterday." He offers cheerfully, and Dean looks up so fast his neck hurts.

" _What_?" He croaks out, and Seth nervously rubs at the back of his neck.

"Yeah... Uh... We ate together... I paid, and..." Seth laughs slightly, a look of slight guilt crosses his face. "I outed you and Ro to him." A sudden bright smile settles on his lips. "Ro was pretty delighted, and well it just means you can stop slumming with the who-" Seth gets no further with his sentence, and Dean once more curses the fact he's right-handed. "What the fuck was that for?" Seth looks furious from his spot on the floor, as he rubs at his recently punched jaw. Dean stalks closer, but a hand snags the back of his shirt.

"Enough." Roman's voice is heavy, and Dean feels sick. "Seth finish up here. I told you not to mention what happened with the ex to Dean." Roman presses a firm kiss to the side of Dean's head, and the sick feeling in Dean's stomach grows.

Roman leads him up to the office, and as soon as the door is closed he moves in for a kiss, but Dean steps away, putting as much distance between them as he can.

"What?" Roman asks, confusion in his voice. "We've been getting on so well this last week, and now that your _boyfriend_ is out of the picture, what's the problem?" Roman moves closer, a leer in his eyes. "We both know he's run off to the good doctor. We both know that he's probably finding comfort and succour there, so why should you go without?"

"Why... Why are you doing this?" Dean wishes he sounded stronger, wishes that Roman's words didn't affect him so much. "How the fuck do you know about Punk's doctor? Why the fuck did you do any of this?"

"The doctor?" Roman laughs softly, and shakes his head. "My cousin's wife is a doctor too. She was talking to Dr Colton who mentioned he'd recently been reunited with an old friend through some volunteering he did. It didn't take much to put all the pieces together when you started talking about _Punk_." Roman reaches out to Dean, his hand curves around his cheek. "Why I'm doing this... It's simple, Dean. You're a handsome man, and I want you. I told you I wanted you, and well it just so happens Seth is both nosey, and not subtle." Roman's hand tangles in Dean's hair, drawing him closer. "Which worked out pretty well for me." Dean wants to step away, but it's then he realises he's backed against the wall. There's no where to go, and he feels more trapped than ever. On the streets he'd been trapped by circumstances, but nothing's changed, he's still trapped by circumstances. If he leaves this job, he'll be back on the streets, and without Punk there'll be no reason to keep going. Punk was everything Dean needed to keep. Punk was _everything_. Without Punk there's nothing, no point, no reason, no motivation to keep fighting. When Roman moves in for a kiss, Dean doesn't resist, there's no point anymore.

A week passes. A week where Dean barely bothers going back to the motel. He's there maybe twice to grab some clothes, and to pay the rent. Punk's things are still there. It's as though Punk has simply vanished from Dean's life, and it reminds him of the few times when they were on the streets where Punk would just not be there. He'd usually be off with clients. The nice ones who paid him that little extra to have a stray live with them for a bit. This time though, Punk's not gone for a little while, this time Punk's gone for good, of that Dean's sure. He's lost him once and for all this time, and it hurts.

Roman had conceded to Dean staying in the motel on his day off only after Dean had sucked him off behind the bar whilst on shift. Roman's stepped up his _affections_ for Dean. He's more handsy, more insistent, more demanding, more not Punk, and Dean needs a day to just think about the mess his life is in.

He spends the day hiding, curled up in bed with a tub of ice cream watching Harry Potter, and not thinking though. There's a list of things he should think about. He needs to examine what the doctor said to him. He needs to think about how to get away from Roman. He needs to think about how to survive with a shattered heart. He need to _fully_ think about not having Punk anymore, because if he's learned only one thing from with week, it's that without Punk in his life, even a little, Dean is broken. Roman's commented on it in a petulant tone. It's almost as though he can't understand that Dean's not elated to no longer have Punk, like he can't process how he's not an upgrade on a formerly homeless former prostitute. He's not, he'll never be able to hold a candle to Punk, and Dean can't face the idea of explaining that to Roman. There's very little chance Dean would be able to, and even if he could, Roman's worst fault is his arrogance. He'd never accept that Dean doesn't, and will never love him.

He falls asleep embarrassingly early, and dreams of sweeter times. He dreams of sleeping on the streets. He dreams of being filthy, and cold, and hungry, but happy, so very happy. He dreams of the little lean-to, he dreams of fights with scurriers, he dreams of begging. He dreams of Punk. He dreams until there's a sudden draft, and a weight makes the bed dip.

"Don't ask me anything, not yet at least. Tomorrow we can talk, but tonight don't let me go." Punk's voice in his ear, Punk's body in his arms, Punk's scent in his nose, Punk's warmth in his bed. Questions can wait. Everything can wait. Everything in that moment is perfect, and Dean isn't going to question that.

"Never letting you go, baby... Never. Love you." Dean mutters, and Punk makes a soft noise, the softest noise Dean's ever heard. He moves in Dean's arms, and kisses him fiercely before settling back down.

"Good. Love you too."

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - Brokenspell77, Anonymous, grleviathan, VKxXx92, Moiself,**_ _ **and Rebellecherry.**_

 _I'm pleased to see myself meeting this self-imposed deadline, even if the chapter seems a little short to me... Everything tends to chaos, this is a proven fact in my experience, everything there is no exceptions. Next update will be 2015/10/25._

 **Comments, questions, critique?They all help keep me writing - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	13. 13

_Warnings: Mild Slash (Ambrose/Punk) (Reigns/Ambrose) (Cabana/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells.**_

* * *

"I'm sorry about last night." It feels like an insufficient apology for the minor breakdown he'd had last night, but it's all Punk can think of to say. He should have handled the inevitable better, but he didn't, and he's annoyed with himself, though his annoyance is warring with, and losing to his miserable self-pity. It's indulgent, but he can't help but think he deserves to be a little self-indulgent. His life has been shattered once more, he may not have lost who he is entirely, but he has lost himself. Dean was how Punk defined so much of himself for so long, and now that's gone.

"Sorry? Why?" Scott looks up from the newspaper he's reading, and Punk shakes his head as he flops down into the chair opposite him.

"Because I should have known better." Punk laughs mirthlessly, and Scott looks slightly confused. "I should have known that as soon as something better came along, Dean would be off."

"I don't..." Scott stands, and pours Punk a cup of coffee, handing it to him before taking his seat once more. "I didn't get the feeling that Dean was cheating on you when I went to see him. I _think_ there's something else going on here."

"There were messages, Colt, _lots_ of messages." Punk takes a drink, and stares down at the murky liquid in the cup. "I'm not good enough for him, not good enough for anyone, and he realised that. I'm happy he's found someone to take care of him."

"Punkers, that's bullshit, and you know it. He loves you. If I only got one thing out of my meeting with him it's that. He loves you, and I'm sure there's a reason for those messages. I'm sure there's a reason he's been sleeping with his _boss_." Scott places an almost undue amount of stress on the word boss, and Punk snorts dismissively at him.

"I don't wanna dwell on it. He's done with me, and I should focus on finding out who I was. I need to start pulling myself back together." Punk drains the last of his coffee, and Scott stares at him hard.

"It's okay to be broken up by this." He says mildly, and Punk finds he can't meet the earnest gaze the doctor is levelling him with. "You can break down, you can scream and shout, whatever it is you need to feel okay, even for a little bit, do it."

"I..." Punk sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face. "Can I borrow your shower again?" Scott barks a surprised laugh, and nods.

"You know where it is. I'll find you something to wear. I put the clothes you were wearing in the machine." Scott stands, and hauls Punk to his feet, pulling him into a tight hug. "You'll be okay, no matter how this plays out, you'll be okay." Punk returns the hug. In Scott's arms he can almost believe those words to be true.

The next few days are surprising for Punk. Without Dean in his life there's a bleeding, aching wound on his soul, but it's not as bad as it could be. Living with Scott is comfortable. It's easy to fall into step with his life, easy to spend time doing nothing much of anything other than leafing through the photos in the shoebox on the coffee table, translating Phil's diary, or staring up at the doodles on the ceiling. Some times Punk'll have the strangest sense of deja vu when he's doing the most mundane things in Scott's apartment. The most common is when Punk's cooking. He'll be stirring at some pot, and the overwhelming knowledge that he's done this before will come over him. He knows this apartment, he knows what it's like sharing a living space with Scott, granted he's certain it was never _this_ living space, but he knows Scott's habits. He knows that if Scott ha his way he'd sleep till noon, and not go to bed till the small hours of the morning. He knows that Scott doesn't like mushrooms, and isn't fond of music, because he prefers talk radio. He knows that Scott likes to sleep on his side, and Punk's fine with that because as much as he likes cuddling up to someone, he prefers to be the little spoon.

"Something smells good." Scott sounds at once exhausted, and happy as he comes wandering into the kitchen one evening, his voice jarring Punk from the odd familiarity of stirring a pot at this stove.

"Yeah... Well hopefully it'll taste good." Punk turns to him with a smile, and finds himself staring at him blankly. There's something in the pit of his stomach, something flowing through him, something warm and happy. He's not felt with way since he was on the streets. He's not felt this way since before he got sick, since _long_ before finding Scott again. That something, this feeling, it's something Punk's only felt with Dean, and feeling it so profoundly now surprises him. He can't remember what he was going to say, so all he can do is stare dumbly at the confused looking Scott.

"Hey... You okay there?" Scott waves his hand in front of Punk's face.

"Yeah... I'm good." Punk smiles, and goes over to Scott, pulling him into a tight hug. "Thank you."

"For what?" Scott returns the hug, his arms wrapping around Punk tightly. Punk ignores the question in favour of snuggling closer. "Your pot's burning." Scott laughs after a little while, and Punk hurries over dinner, stirring at it frantically. "What were you up to all day then?" By the sound of things, Scott is fetching plates, and setting them on the table.

"I was working on Phil's diary." Punk serves up, and sticks the pot in the dishwasher. "I'm nearly finished, but I think there's something missing... It's like this is a code for something else."

"If there's something else, it'll be in the basement. I'll get you the key." Scott wanders off, and comes back with a small brass key. "I boxed everything up, and locked it down there." He starts eating, his expression closed and tight.

"You don't mind me looking?" Punk asks softly, cursing the fact he can't read people well, though Scott isn't as difficult as most other people to read, Punk can't decipher the expression on his face in that moment.

"It's your stuff, Punkers." He doesn't look up at Punk, instead it seems Scott is fully engrossed in his meal.

"Colt... They're Phil's things... You said yourself, I'm not Phil."

"I know... But they _are_ yours. You are, even if you aren't, Phil." Scott huffs a laugh, and grins at Punk. "All your old clothes are down there... Fuck I should have remembered that sooner." He laughs again. "We eat, then we head down to re-familiarise you with your old wardrobe, Punkers."

They spend the night down in the basement picking over Phil's old clothes. Punk's relieved that it seems Phil dressed in a fairly relaxed style. There's only one suit, and very few items that Punk would turn his nose up at wearing. Scott pointed out the boxes of paperwork that Punk might want to look through later in the week, but by far the biggest surprise was the discovery of Phil's old cell phone. Scott had seemed surprised, and Punk was downright floored. He'd have expected Phil to have it with him when the accident happened, but the fact that it must have been in the apartment raised some questions that Punk didn't want to dwell on too much.

"Punkers?" The next night Scott's shout has Punk poking his head out of the basement door. He'd spent all day going through Phil's papers, and had found a little black notebook, that Punk managed to work out was linked to the diary. The diary acted as a decoder of sorts of the notebook which turned out to contain a list of phone numbers, dates, and times. "I had a feeling you'd be down here." Scott follows Punk back down the stairs to the now more messy basement. "I come baring gifts."

"I can smell burgers." Punk chuckles as he returns to the notebook. He thinks he should check to see if any of these numbers match ones on Phil's phone, but the battery in the cell was dead, and Punk hadn't spotted the charger for it.

"Yup." Scott laughs, and sits down by Punk on top of one of the stuffed cardboard boxes.

"For a doctor you eat pretty shitty." Punk bumps Scott's shoulder, getting a bark of laughter from him, and an arm around Punk's own shoulders, holding him close to the doctor's side.

"Yeah, yeah... I got you something else." Scott drops a box down in Punk's lap, and he glances down at it.

"No." Punk shakes his head firmly, and Scott presses a quick kiss to the side of his head.

"Yes." He stands, moving to fetch the bag of food he'd left on a different box across the room, and Punk _carefully_ sets the phone box on the counter in front of him. He knows how much a cell phone like the one the box costs, and he can't accept that.

"Colt, you're letting me live here, you're letting me eat your food, and sleep in your bed-"

"Punkers... Those things are the _least_ I can do for you. The absolute, bare minimum." There might be a smile on Scott's lips, but there's conviction in his eyes. That warm feeling comes over Punk once more in a flood. "That phone is nothing compared to what I should be doing for you... If I could I'd give you what you're here for, but I can't, and you need a phone. So _please_ , take it." Punk stands and approaches the doctor, licking his lips nervously. He'd _like_ to kiss Scott. He'd like the doctor's hands on him in a way far more intimate than usual. He'd like to taste Scott's mouth, and the depth of how much Punk would like that surprises him, but he knows Scott would deny him. They've not spoken about Dean since Punk's crying fit the first night he came to the doctor's home, but Punk knows that Scott thinks Dean has a good reason for cheating. So he doesn't kiss Scott, instead Pun tries to convey his gratefulness, his _love_ in nothing more than a hug. "So, did you find the charger for Phil's phone?" Scott asks once Punk's taken his spot on his box once more.

"Nah, I was playing at decoder all day." Punk carefully avoids looking at the new cell phone box as Scott sets his food down in front of him.

"I think it might be in one of those boxes... I _think_ that's where I put the electronics. Lemme eat, then I'll take a look."

They spend the rest of the evening in the basement, talking about their days, and waiting for Phil's phone to charge. It's a nice quiet night. The sort of night Punk thinks most other people have all the time, but he'd never had until recently. A quiet night at home sorting through the junk in the basement is probably not one most people would enjoy, but that night as he lies cuddled up with Scott's arms around his waist, it's a night Punk thinks of fondly.

In the morning, Punk looks through Phil's cell phone, making a note of every number in it, and cross-referencing them with the note book. He's surprised to see Scott's number in it. The same number he has now, but Punk supposes Scott wouldn't have changed it in the hope that one day his Phil would call him. A futile hope, because until they'd met again Punk hadn't even known Scott existed. Punk had hoped there would be old messages between the two of them, but there was only one short terse conversation, and several unanswered ones spaced evenly two weeks apart that read _Punkers, call me please! Love Colt_. Every two weeks without fail, a new message would be sent until the date Punk met the doctor in the drop-in clinic. The only other number that appears regularly is one that's left unnamed, but it's called and calls often. Punk had compared it to the notebook, and the dates and times of the calls matched entries in the book. Over lunch he comes to the decision that there's nothing to be lost in calling. So once he's eaten, Punk dials the number that featured so heavily in little notebook, and Phil's old phone. He's not sure what he expects, part of him is sure that whoever's number this was won't still have the same phone. No one keeps the same number that long, well no one but Scott. The phone rings for what seems like an age, but eventually someone answers.

" _Hello?_ " The person's voice is oddly familiar, and Punk isn't sure why.

"Hi... Uh... Who is this?" The question makes the person on the other end of the line laugh, and Punk fidgets slightly. He feels stupid for calling. He should have tried to trace the number some other way, but he'd been excited over finding the number, he'd been excited over the idea of having something to connect him to who he was.

"Shouldn't you know who you're calling?" The man laughs, and Punk sighs slightly.

"It's a long story... I..." Punk isn't sure how much of this story he should tell. His pause goes on for longer than it should, and the man on the other end of the line makes an annoyed huff. "Did you know a man named Phil Brooks?" There's a short pause, nothing but silence from the other end of the phone.

"I do." The man says softly, and confusion fills Punk. The man can't know _Phil_ because Punk doesn't know Phil. Phil is lost, so this man's claim is either a lie, or he's talking about a different _Phil Brooks_.

"Philip Jack Brooks?" Punk offer's Phil's full name, and the man laughs softly.

"I know him... I've known him since he was in High School... I meet him in his senior year... Why are you asking me about him?" The man sounds almost wistful, and Punk isn't sure what to make of that tone. He's not sure he trusts this voice on the end of the phone, but he _thinks_ he should meet with the man who owns it.

"I... It's difficult to explain... I know this is presumptuous of me, but I'd like to meet you." The man on the phone laughs at Punk's question.

"Who are you?" He sounds more amused than concerned, and Punk's relieved by that.

"I'm... I'm a friend of Phil's." It's a strange way of putting it, and almost entirely false, but Punk isn't prepared to explain the truth of the matter over the phone.

"A friend? I somehow doubt that, but alright. I'm free this afternoon. I can meet you." The man still sounds like he's laughing at Punk, but Punk can't bring himself to mind that overly, not when there's the potential to have a little more of the truth of _Phil_ revealed to him.

Punk arrives at the little cafe the man had offered to meet him in early, and takes a seat where he can see the door easily. He's no idea who he's waiting for, no idea what the man looks like, but he'd told Punk he'd send a text when he arrived, as much as Punk had bristled at the gift of a cell phone from Scott, he can see the value in it, even if it is bewilderingly difficult to use.

 _So friend of Phil, where are you? - unknown_

 _Table in the back. - sent_

"Punk?" The man who approaches the table is painfully familiar to Punk. Balding, over-weight, dressed in a suit, and _greasy_.

" _Wally_?" Punk stares at the man blankly, and he takes a seat opposite.

"My name is Paul, Punk." He smiles slightly, and Punk continues to stare at him. The man opposite him was one of his most regular clients. A man who always treated him well. A man who always paid him extra. A man who treated him as close to a human as anyone, other than Dean, ever did. "Do you... I mean _have_ you remembered who you are?" Punk shakes his head, and Paul sighs softly. "I had hoped you had when you called... It would be nice for you to remember." Paul reaches over to touch Punk, but he ducks away, and a wry smile stretches Paul's lips. "Too much to hope for really, isn't it?" He chuckles.

"Why... How do you know who I was?" Punk manages to force the words out. His throat feels dry, his mind is spinning. He can't process this properly. The man opposite him was his client on the streets, but somehow Phil had his number. There could be several reasons for that, but there's only one jumping out at Punk, and it neatly confirms that Phil was the terrible person Punk had always thought he was.

"I met you a long time ago, Philip. Well, I met Philip along time ago at least." Paul smiles, and Punk takes a sip of the glass of water that's sitting in front of him, trying to keep his heart and mind from racing too far. "He was so young, and well... You were as beautiful in your youth as you are now." Paul grins, clearly waiting for Punk to say something, but no words can force their way past the lump in Punk's throat. He can't begin to work out what to say to the man opposite him. A waiter approaches their table, and Paul orders two coffees, saying nothing more until both cups are placed down. "With Philip it was very similar to the way we do business now, Punk. Philip was smart, far smarter than he let on, far more capable than anyone ever assumed. I wanted to do so much more for him, but he didn't want to be a _kept_ boy. A hired one was a different matter. I couldn't tell you how he rationalised it, he never said, but I think he liked to think of it as keeping his independence. He was a fierce, burning creature... Beautiful and determined." Paul takes a sip of his coffee, and stares at Punk. "You weren't expecting this, were you?"

" _No_." Punk scrubs a hand over his eyes, and focuses on the coffee. "I wasn't expecting to hear I was always a whore, if that's what you're asking." Paul laughs at the comment, and Punk glares up at him.

"I've never considered you a whore, Phi-Punk." Paul takes another drink of coffee, and reaches over the table, catching Punk's hands in his own. "You are something delicate and fragile... Something I have always wanted very much, but you would never let me have you in the way I'd like, _so_ I took you on your terms."

"Why?" It's a stupid question, but Paul genuinely looks to be considering it carefully. He squeezes Punk's hands lightly then lets them go, gesturing to the coffee in front of Punk.

"Drink it before it gets cold." He takes another sip of his own drink, and Punk follows suit. "Why is a difficult question to answer. With Philip it was because he was smart, and had potential. I want to help him, but like I said, he didn't want to be _kept_. With you... You are an ember, Punk." Paul smiles softly, and reaches out to brush a finger over the scar on Punk's temple. "I wanted to bring your fire back. When I saw you on the street corner I couldn't believe my luck at finding my Philip once more, but you're not him."

"I know, and the more I learn about him, the happier I am about that." Punk snaps, pulling away from the gentle touch sharply.

"You shouldn't be." Paul laughs softly, and finishes his coffee. "Philip had all the potential, but none of the opportunities. He would have been great, so I let him earn the money he won't take from me." Paul smiles slightly, and Punk feels mildly unwell. "He used the money for college. I'm quite certain I wasn't the only lonely old man he was employed by, just as I'm sure I'm not the only lonely old man you've _entertained_." A strangely sorrowful look flits over Paul's face. "If only he'd let me keep him... Things would be so very different for _both_ of us, but the arrogance of youth." Paul waves the waiter over and settles the bill quickly. "If you'd like to talk to me, I'll always listen." He ambles out of the cafe, ad Punk sits there for far longer than he should turning his newly gained information over in his head. An hour, and two more cups of coffee, pass before Punk's cell rings. A quick glance confirms that it's a call Punk will accept, a call from Scott. Punk leaves the cafe to answer the doctor's call.

" _Where are you?_ " Scott sounds worried, and Punk isn't sure how to placate his worries. He's not sure of much of anything. He shares more with Phil than a face, and a body. He shares a profession, and a client. It does explain why _Wally_ was always so nice to him. It explains why he always gave Punk extra. In dear old _Wally's_ mind he was keeping his former boy-toy safe.

"I'm at some cafe... I... Come get me... _Please_." Punk leans against the wall, siding down it, and Scott asks increasingly frantic questions about Punk's location, and what happened to him. The first set of questions Punk answers as accurately and as quickly as possible. He wants Scott there _fast_. He wants to press his face against the doctor's chest and hide from the truth of Phil for a little while longer. He was a whore, _always_ a whore, and the truth is seeping into his conciousness like poison from a spider bite seeps into your blood. He has a little more information about who he was, but Punk thinks he could have lived without knowing it. He thinks he could have lived without knowing that _Wally_ had been his client for years, _so_ many years, and he did nothing to help Punk. He helped put Phil through college, but he must have seen how far Punk had fallen, and yet he did _nothing_. A few extra bills at the end of a session is nothing compared to what he could have done for Punk. When he stops to process this, when he actually realises that almost undoubtedly every number in that little notebook was the number of one of Phil's clients, Punk's going to have another breakdown. The weeping mess he'd been after he'd found out about Dean's infidelity will be _nothing_ compared to the mess having the realisation that Phil really was as bad a person as Punk had always expected.

"C'mon." Scott's arm wraps around Punk's shoulders lightly. "Lets get you home, hmm?" Punk doesn't answer, he simply nods, and snuggles against Scott's shoulder. Safe, warm, far from harm, his face hidden against the thick wool of Scott's coat. Punk's mind is reeling. He's not sure what to make of what he's just learnt. He was a whore, _always_ a whore. Nothing changed after the accident, well his clientele went down market, but that's all. He doesn't want to think on it, not right now. What he wants is to hide from everything, what he wants is to be safe. Scott guides him into the car, and brushes a soft kiss over the scar. He doesn't say anything to Punk, instead he stares hard at him for a few seconds. He was clearly making a decision in that moment, the outcome of which Punk doesn't know. "What happened?"

"I... I met one of Phil's clients." Punk whispers, and Scott sucks air in through his teeth.

"Client?" He asks softly, and Punk laughs, loud, and long, and harsh. It's a laugh without happiness, a laugh Punk thinks is peculiar to _Phil_ related incidents.

"Your _Punkers_ was, and is, a whore." Punk bark another laugh.

"No." Scott says simply, and Punk laughs once more.

"Phil fucked men for money to pay his way through college, and judging by your lack of reaction, I'd say you already knew, or at least suspected that. So yes, your _Punkers_ was a whore. Then there's _me_ , and I fuck men to have money so I can afford to eat, so I _am_ a whore. There's nothing to _no_ in my statement." Punk can feel a laugh that feels dangerously close to tears building.

"No, Punkers. Just no." Scott turns to look at him as the idle at a red light. "You earned money to survive. You did what you had to do to be where you wanted to be, where you _needed_ to be."

"I got that money by being paid for sex, that is the dictionary definition of a whore." The slightly hysterical laugh breaks free, and Scott starts driving once more.

"Maybe... But I still-" Scott stops himself from finishing that sentence, and Punk curls into himself, hiding from his thoughts, hiding from that unfinished sentence, and most importantly hiding from the truth of his past.

"Why are we here?" Punk mutters once Scott parks the car.

"I've got your key." Scott gets out of the car, and is opening Punk's door before he can think about what to do. "C'mon, Punkers." He offers Punk his hand, and Punk can feel the bottom fall out of his stomach.

"Why... Why are we here?" He can't be here. He can't be at the motel. He can't come here knowing that Dean has left him, that Dean cheated on him, that Dean doesn't want him. Not that Punk can blame him for that. Why would _anyone_ want a whore? Why would Scott want a whore? Punk ignores Scott's hand, and slinks out of that car. Scott's hands rest on his shoulders, and hold him fast. "Lemme go... That's why we're here isn't it? You know the truth about your _Punkers_ , and now you're going to toss me away. You left Phil, and now you're throwing me away. Not like it matters. Without you, without Dean, all there is is me. I'm not wor-" Scott's fingers tighten, and he pulls Punk into a hug.

"Stop talking." He mutters in Punk's ear. "I told you, I'm _never_ letting you go again. I'll tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe me, but I think words aren't enough for you... It's gotta be shown. Isn't that right, Punkers?" Punk's throat feels dry, his fingers feel itchy, and there's a weird _ache_ in his chest.

"How you gonna show me?" He manages to force out, pulling away only enough to be able to focus on Scott's face. The doctor looks slightly thrown when Punk's hands rest on his cheeks. "Is that why we're here? You gonna prove you're never gonna leave me by renting a room in the roach box?"

"Not quite." Scott mumbles, and Punk smirks at him.

"Why are we here then?" Punk finds himself tracing over the doctor's eyebrows, something warm and alive in the pit of his stomach, something he's sure he's probably felt before, but not since he was _Phil_. It's different to the feeling of love he has for Dean, something so very different, yet completely the same. He leans forward, and presses his lips to Scott's. It's nothing like kissing Dean, and yet is exactly like kissing him. There's the same familiarity, the same sense of safety, the same _passion_ , but there's a difference, a newness, a difference in technique. It's the same with that feeling, the same feeling, but expressed with a different person, the similarities, the differences, Punk wants them both, _needs_ them both.

"Pun-"

"Whatever it is you think you're going to say is, don't." Punk grins, and Scott stares at him. "I kissed you cause I wanted to, and it's for no reason other than that." Punk lets his grin soften, and Scott shakes his head at him.

"C'mon. You've had a shitty day, and we're here for a reason." Scott starts walking into the motel, and Punk hurries to catches up to him. He takes a hold of Scott's hand, and is more than pleased when the doctor doesn't pull away, instead he slows to match Punk's pace, his thumb moving over the back of Punk's knuckles all the way to a very familiar room.

"Here?" Punk almost wants to turn tail and run from this room, but even with Scott's hand clamped in his, and the lingering memory of his taste in Punk's mouth, there's something missing. Having had so little for so long, Punk is half convinced that he's now become a glutton, not for food, but affection. It might be that he's always been that way. Phil had been a whore too, Phil had been looking for affection, for love, and had been terrified of what he could have received from Scott, so he'd pushed him away. It's the only explanation for why Scott left him that Punk can think of. It makes enough sense to him for him to not want to examine it any further.

"You need him, Punkers." Scott mutters. Punk turns to look over at him, and is caught by the look on his face. Scott looks tense, like he's steeled himself against something inevitably painful, his tongue flicks out to lick over his lips, his eyes falling closed. "We can still be friends... It's always been like this, so don't think you owe me anything, or you have to do anything. I'll help you find out as much as you want to know. I'll... I'll make up for not helping you before. I'll try to make up for letting you down... But this is where you need to be. Dean loves you, and he'll have a good reason for what he's been doing. He won't have wanted to hurt you, I'm sure of it." Scott takes a deep breath, and lets go of Punk's hand. "This week, Punkers, it's been... I don't want to say it's been great because you've been hurt so much by this, and by me, and by Dean, but in so many ways for me it was like having what I always wanted back. I had you with me all week, I came home to you, I woke up to you... But it's not what you need. You miss him, you miss Dean so much, and I can't keep you from him."

"He cheated on me." Punk snaps. He'd been certain he'd been hiding how much he missed Dean far better than this, but it seems that Scott can read him like an open book, and there's a part of Punk that _furious_ about that. He grabs the doctor's shoulders and spins him around. "He's fucking someone else behind my back... He threw me away... You said you'd not let me go again. I... If I go in there, you're coming with me." Punk squeezes the doctor's shoulders tightly. "I don't know that this is the place, or the time to talk about this, but I liked this week." Punk smiles awkwardly when Scott looks at him. "The whole finding out I've always been a whore thing, I could have lived without that, but everything else... I like being with you. I like being the person you came home to... I like our... _Thing_." Punk laughs softly, and Scott seems to be losing a fight with a smile.

" _Thing_?" He chuckles, and Punk nods. "I guess it's as good a word as any, but what about Dean?" Punk glances at the door they're standing outside of. On the other side of it is an unknown. Punk isn't sure if Dean'll be there or not. He might be with his new lover. He might be working. Punk doesn't know, all he does know is he wants to find out, but not alone. No matter what's on the other side of the door, he wants to face it with Scott.

"You'll come with me?" Punk pulls the key from his pocket, and slides it into the lock.

"Yeah." Scott stands closely behind him, his chest pressed to Punk's back, his hands tentatively hovering over his hips. Punk leans his head back against Scott's shoulder, his eyes closed.

"I love him." Punk mutters, and Scott makes a soft agreeing noise. "I know that if he asked me to, I'd forgive him without a second thought." There's another soft noise of agreement from Scott. " _But_."

"But?" Scott asks softly, and Punk turns his head slightly, looking at the doctor out of the corner of his eye.

"But, I just found you again, and I know I know you. I... I know loved you, and I'm sure I still do, so I'm not letting you leave me again." Punk smirks, and Scott tries to step away from him. "Don't." Punk snaps softly, and turns around so he can cling to Scott. "I don't know what's going to happen, but I do know that you don't get to leave me."

"Bossy, Punkers. _Always_ so bossy." It seems like Scott is going to ignore Punk's hastily given, and ill-thought out confession of love. Punk isn't entirely certain that was the best moment to mention that, but it's done, and it seems like Scott is more benevolent than Punk would be in his position. He's grateful for that though, because he's not got the whole thing worked out in his mind yet. He loves Dean, completely helplessly adores him. There is nothing Punk wouldn't do for Dean, and until Dean's infidelity had been discovered, Punk had believed Dean to feel the same way, but Dean cheated on him. That infidelity threw Punk for a loop, one he was already on because of the doctor. At first Punk hadn't been sure how he'd felt, he'd mistrusted Scott, had doubted him, believed that he was feeding drips and drops of information to keep Punk coming back, but over time Punk came to realise that the information was released in small portions to let Punk come to accept it. Scott has prescribed Punk his past in small doses so he didn't receive an overdose of information like he did today, an overdose Punk is studiously ignoring. His past isn't going anywhere, but if Punk isn't careful his present just might, so he needs to make Scott understand what he feels. Punk can trust Scott, he _knows_ he can. Every time they're in each other's company there's none of Punk's usual tension, with Scott he's relaxed in a way he's not even with Dean. There's implicit trust, old familiar safety in Scott's company, and with that safety old familiar feelings have been surfacing. Feelings that have Punk's heart racing, his stomach churning, and his fingers twitching. He loves Scott. He very probably shouldn't, but he does, and now Scott knows ,even if he's ignoring it for now.

"I know. Now, c'mon." Punk opens the motel room door quietly, and hears the soft click of it behind Scott.

"Go on, get to bed." Scott mutters in Punk's ear, and Punk nods as he squints through the darkness, picking out the huddled form of Dean under the covers.

"You too." Punk turns to press a quick light kiss to Scott's lips, and toes his shoes off. He strips to his boxers quickly, and turns to glare at the doctor who reluctantly takes off his shoes. He seems disinclined to strip any further, and Punk supposes that's okay. It would be weird for Dean and Scott for them to be sharing a bed with both of them half-dressed. Punk slips into bed, settling into Dean's arms almost immediately, Scott slinking in behind him, and lying on his back rigidly.

"Don't ask me anything, not yet at least. Tomorrow we can talk, but tonight don't let me go." Punk murmurs into Dean's ear.

"Never letting you go, baby... Never. Love you." Dean's voice is fierce and soft. It's full of conviction, and Punk's relieved. He reaches with the one arm he has thrown out behind him towards Scott. When the doctor takes his offered hand, Punk can't help but make a content little noise. This is exactly what he'd wanted. He shifts in Dean's embrace to kiss him fiercely, trying to impress on Dean that Punk loves him still, will always love him, even if Punk's certain he's in love with Scott too, before settling back down. Behind him Punk and feel Scott's body heat, and his fingers around Punk's own tighten briefly.

"Good. Love you two." Punk wonders if Dean will notice that Punk said that a little too loudly, wonders if Dean will notice that the bed is a little fuller than normal, because Punk would like their bed to stay this way. If Dean reacts badly to this, if Dean doesn't approve, Punk isn't sure what he'll do, but he does know that both of these men had promised to keep a hold of him, and Punk intends to make them keep their promises.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - _ **Moiself,**_ grleviathan, xXDanceGirlXx, VKxXx92, Brokenspell77, Alicia, **__**and Rebellecherry.**_

 _Next update will be 2015/11/08._

 **Comments, questions, critique? They all help keep me writing - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	14. 14

_Warnings: Slash (Reigns/Ambrose), Smut, Mild Slash (Ambrose/Punk) (Cabana/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells.**_

* * *

That night Dean sleeps well. He sleeps far better than he has since Punk left. He dreams of nothing in particular. He doesn't dream of being cold, hungry, and happy, instead he dreams of vague sensations, and the soft sounds of waves on a beach. When he wakes Punk is sitting up in bed, Dean's head in his lap, a distant look on his face. It's an expression Dean doesn't know, a strange faraway look, and Dean doesn't like it.

"You're home?" Dean asks softly, and Punk focusses on him.

"I'm here." Punk sounds odd, as faraway as the look on his face, and Dean frowns, shifting to sit up in bed. "I said you could ask me questions... I... I have one I'd like to ask you first though." Punk's voice is clearer, stronger, and Dean nods, his attention rapt on Punk.

"Anything, baby, _anything_." He isn't sure what to do with his hands, they want to reach out and grab Punk's, but Dean doesn't think Punk would appreciate the gesture in that moment, so he folds them in his lap. He wonders what Punk's question is going to be. It could be one of a million things, but Dean's _thinks_ it might relate to why he's been fucking Roman. The answer there is simple, an answer Dean should have given Punk the first night it had happened, but for reasons Dean's been having a hard time justifying to himself, he'd allowed himself to become a scurrier. He'd told lies and half-truths when he should have remembered that he's not a scurrier. He's homeless, even if he's currently homed, the streets are in Dean's blood. He'd been lying to himself, almost as much as he'd been lying to Punk, by hiding the the truth of what was happening with Roman.

"Do you love me?" Punk's question is quiet, his faraway tone remaining, and Dean stares at him blankly.

"Do you really need to ask me that?" He whispers. It hurts. To hear that soft little question _aches_ more than any thing Dean's ever experienced, even the fear of losing Punk to death or the doctor doesn't hurt as much as hearing him question Dean's love for him. There's one constant in Dean's life, one thing he's certain of, and that is his love for Punk.

" _Please_. Just answer me." Punk says flatly. He sounds like every drop of emotion has been siphoned out of him, and Dean makes a quick grab for him hands, cradling them gently.

"I can't believe I've let you doubt me this much..." The words escape Dean in a pitiful croak, and he raises Punk's hands to his lips. "How could I?" He murmurs against Punk's skin.

"Dean." Punk sounds pained, and Dean looks up at him. His eyes are shimmering with unshed tears, his lips pressed into a thin little line. "Answer me."

"So much." Dean reaches for Punk's face with one hand, moulding it to the curve of his cheek, his thumb strokes over the stark scar on Punk's temple. "I love you so _so_ much." Punk nods at Dean's words. It doesn't look like he's going to say anything else, and Dean tries desperately to think of something worth saying to him.

"Colt thinks you have a reason for it... For..." Punk doesn't seem able to say it, doesn't seem like he can bring himself to voice the fact that Dean was sleeping with someone else.

"The job." Dean provides the answer without the question being finished. "I was sleeping with him to keep the job."

"Why?" Punk is staring at the wall behind Dean's head, his eyebrows knit in pain.

"The money... I need to keep you safe, baby. I need to keep you warm, and dry... I... Punk, you're _everything_ to me, and I'll do whatever I have to to keep you safe." Dean strokes Punk's eyebrow once more.

"Even lie to me? Hide the truth... Be like _them_?" Punk laughs softly, and he leans away from Dean's touch. "For me? No... I don't think it was, not really. He's a good looking guy, isn't he? Tall, handsome, _rich_." Dean can feel his blood freezing, and he stares blankly at Punk, watching as he gets off the bed. "You say it was for me, but it wasn't just for me, was it? It can't have been hard to let him fuck you."

"Is it hard to let your doctor fuck you" Dean snaps, struggling out from under the blankets to stand. His fists are clenched, the broken skin of his right knuckles pulling tightly.

"I have _never_ fucked Colt." Punk sneers, his shoulders setting, his body falling into a fighting stance. "I have never been anything but faithful to you." His tone is venomous, his posture loose and fluid as though he's waiting for the violence to begin.

"Really?" Dean scoffs, flexing his hands, willing the fight to drain out of him. Even if he's still recovering Punk would probably best Dean in a fight. Not because Punk's the better fighter, but because Dean could never willing hurt him. The thought of causing Punk pain, _more_ pain, is abhorrent to him.

"You think I'd lie to you?" Punk snaps, his eyes hard and narrowed. " _You_! You fucking _dare_ accuse me of lying" Punk laughs, a sharp grating sound that has Dean wincing. "You cheated on me, I have _never_ cheated on you." Punk folds his arms, and looks pained, _thoroughly_ pained. "I... I kissed him. He didn't kiss me back... But I kissed him." The fight leaves Punk in a flood, and he sinks to his knees, his forehead pressed against the bed. "I want to kiss him again... I want to forgive you... I want to curl up with you both, and I... If it was for me, Dean, why didn't you tell me? If you told me I would've understood... It'd have been a _job_ , but you didn't... You... Left me." Punk's voice is muffled by the comforter, and Dean clambers over the bed, trying to think of the words he needs to say to make this okay, trying to ignore the fact Punk said he kissed the doctor and wants to again. It's a problem for another day, something to think about later, not now when Dean wants to stop this from unravelling even more.

"I didn't leave you." It was the wrong thing to say. Dean knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that they were the wrong ones. Punk takes a shuddering breath, and leans away from the bed.

"You wouldn't touch me." He sounds hollow. He sounds wrong, so very wrong. "You wouldn't sleep in the same bed as me. You wouldn't _talk_ to me."

"I couldn't." Dean wishes he'd made a better opening gambit, but this is the track he started down, and there's no turning back now. "When we came back here, I wanted to make things better for us, to get away from being nothing but a pair of losers whoring themselves out, and when I got that job I thought I could be legit for the first time in my life. I thought that I could finally be the man you deserve." Punk laughs, and Dean flinches. Punk's laughter was a harsh, but probably accurate response. Dean will _never_ be the man Punk needs. The man he needs is in some swanky apartment, with a great job, and Punk's past.

"A little money to get a place to rest, Punk. _That's_ what Colt told me when he gave me that money." Punk laughs again. "Rest... I've not _rested_ a single fucking day since then... If you'd not dragged me back to that fucking clinic I could have died in peace." Punk's voice drops, his breath fast and shallow. "That infection should have killed me, and we all would have been a lot better off if it had. None of this would have happened, Dean. None of this should have happened." Punk closes his eyes, trying to get a handle on his breathing. Dean stares transfixed. He can't think of a single thing to say to Punk. He isn't sure how to explain how in one way Punk's very right. None of this should have happened, Dean should have told Punk about Roman instead of trying to hide it. Being open and honest was how they survived on the streets, and it would have been how they survived as scurriers. Whilst in one way Punk's right, in so many others he's wrong, painfully wrong. If Punk had died, Dean would be dead or worse. There's no doubting that in Dean's mind, but this isn't something Punk's going to believe, Dean can tell. Their relationship isn't something that can withstand the assault they've both put it through. This is it, this is the end. It's a painful realisation, but Dean can't keep Punk, so it's time to sever the ties that bind them together.

"I wouldn't have let you die, Punk." Dean whispers. Punk snorts, and curls into himself. "And if I'd not taken you, you'd have never met _Colt_ again." He sneers the nickname without meaning to, and Punk glances at him. "If you'd died where would he be? Still moping over his lost _Punkers_?" Dean barks a harsh laugh, and Punk's eyes narrow. "You know... I'm fucking Roman. I should have told you, but I didn't. I'm fucking him, but it was to keep you here, to keep _us_ here." Dean stands once more, and goes over to crouch beside Punk. "I fuck him to keep my job. A job I got because of you. I've never lived for someone else until I met you, and every day after I met you was another day I wanted to see your face." Dean reaches for Punk's chin, holding it lightly. "I've loved you so completely, so wholly since almost the first time I saw you, and you..." Dean leans closer, his lips almost brushing Punk's. His heart is pounding, there's something thick and heavy in his blood. He knows what he's about to do is both cruel and necessary. "You're a whore." Dean kisses Punk one last time, his lips lightly brush over Punk's, and Dean steels himself against the burning need to apologise, and beg for Punk's forgiveness. "That doctor... All he was supposed to do was tell you who you were, but you couldn't resist the allure of getting yourself in somewhere, could you? Of course you haven't fucked him, you're _far_ smarter than that, Punk." Dean leans away from Punk. Punk's sitting rigidly, his eyes closed, his lips pressed together, the colour drained from his skin. "You're not stupid enough to just fuck him, oh no. You're playing this for the long con. Has he told you he loves you yet, or are you still working on making it sound convincing coming from you first? You don't need to worry about that, you're pretty believable." Dean forces a harsh laugh out, and moves away from Punk, to lean against a wall. Punk's not moved once since Dean started talking, he looks like he's frozen in place. "I've always believed you at least." Dean chuckles wryly, and finally Punk looks up at him. "Go on, go." Dean waves at the door, folding his arms over his chest. "There's nothing here for you." Punk's mouth opens and closes a few times, like he's desperate to say something.

"Dean?" Punk croaks, and stands weakly. He looks like a wraith, his skin pale, his eyes huge and dark. It takes all of Dean's willpower to remain against the wall. He can't go to Punk, can't give him any comfort. This is the end, this is Dean forcing him out, and into the waiting arms of the doctor.

"I'd say I hope you find what you're looking for, Punk, but I don't." Dean keeps his face as blank as his tone. He watches Punk look around the room frantically, like he was looking for clues as to how this all happened. The conversation Punk had started, Dean has changed the purpose of. Dean's sure that Punk would have forgiven him, but forgiving Dean isn't what Punk needs. Punk needs to distance himself from the streets, he needs to be kept safe, and Dean can't provide that, so Punk needs to go.

"Dean..." Punk almost staggers over to him, and slumps so his head's resting against Dean's shoulder. "I forgive you... This Roman thing, this job... Forget it, don't do this to me." He whispers, and Dean closes his eyes firmly. He needs to do this, he needs to make Punk leave.

"Get out, Punk. Go away, don't come back. I don't want to see you. I don't want you in my life. I don't love you." Of all the lies Dean has told since they've come to this little motel room those are the biggest. There's nothing more false than those three little statements.

"You don't mean that." There's a desperate edge to Punk's voice, one that Dean ignores firmly. "I _love_ you." Punk sounds so honest, and Dean hates that the only thing he has to counter Punk's honesty is lies, but this is for Punk's own good. Dean has always wanted to be a hero for Punk, but it seems to save him, Dean needs to play the villain. The doctor will protect Punk, he'll heal him, and that's the only thing that matters.

"That's nice, but I don't love you." Dean refuses to look at Punk, even when Punk grips his shoulders tightly.

"Look at me, and say it." Punk pleads, and Dean take a deep breath. He can feel his heart breaking with each second that passes. He meets Punk's eyes reluctantly, sees the desperate spark of hope in their depths, and Dean knows he needs to snuff that light out once and for all.

"I do not love you." He says each word carefully, speaks slowly and calmly as he stares into Punk's eyes. The hope dies, and Punk shrinks away from him. He packs his few belongings into a bag under Dean's empty stare. Before he leaves the room he pauses, looking around it, his eyes lingering over the bed.

"This is the room we rented that one time, isn't it?" Punk says softly. Dean nods tightly, and Punk looks like he's fighting tears. "Be safe, Dean. Be happy... I... I l-"

"Go." Dean stops him from finishing that sentence. Dean can't hear Punk confess his love again, if he does his resolve will falter, and he'll take back every lie he's spewed forth. Punk looks wounded, and he nods. He sets the key down on the table, and closes the door behind him quietly. It takes Dean less than a moment to sink to the ground. He face pressed against his knees as he weeps.

"Dean?" Roman sounds at once surprised, and delighted to have Dean turn up on his doorstep. "What happened? Why are you here? Are you okay?" Dean doesn't answer, instead he launches himself at Roman, kissing him fiercely, kissing him until the only thing Dean can think of is the pounding of his blood, loud in his ears. It's not a kiss he's ever shared with Roman before, it's nothing like any of the tainted kisses they've had before, and whilst it's nowhere near as enjoyable as kissing Punk, it's not bad. If anything Dean thinks he's enjoying this, so long as he keeps thoughts of Punk from his mind. Roman breaks the kiss with an oddly tight smile. "Not that I'm complaining, but what's gotten into you?" Dean doesn't answer, instead he latches onto Roman's throat, worrying a mark there. Roman moans softly, his head tilting to one side, giving Dean more room to work. "Upstairs, to bed." The words are almost breathed out, and Dean nods slightly. He kicks his shoes off, and starts stripping on his way up to Roman's bedroom.

In the bedroom Dean falters in his determination. He can hear Roman gathering the clothes he's shed on the way up here, humming softly to himself. The bed is huge, dominating the room ominously with it's ostentatious grandeur. Punk is gone. The knowledge hits Dean once more in a wave at that moment. His whole reason for being in Roman's employ, his whole reason for being in this house, his whole reason for being is gone. There is no reason to be here. There is no reason for any of this. Roman's arms around Dean's waist jolts him from his thoughts.

"Hey..." Roman murmurs against Dean's hair. "So, you were all raring to go downstairs." He kisses Dean's hair, and Dean closes his eyes.

"Just waiting for company." Dean mutters, turning in Roman's arms. He pulls him into a kiss, that Roman quickly takes command of, his tongue dominating Dean's mouth effortlessly. They fall back onto the bed, Roman pinning Dean down easily. "Gonna have to get undressed to make for _good_ company, Ro." Dean smirks. Roman backs off, and starts stripping, his eyes focussed on Dean, an odd expression in them.

"Are you okay?" Roman asks softly, as he settles between Dean's thighs.

"Yeah." Dean tries to make his answer sound firm, but it's a far bigger question than Roman realises. "C'mon, I wanna get fucked good and hard." Roman laughs, and leans over to grab his lube from the night-stand. His first finger breaches Dean carefully, easing in and out slowly. A second finger is introduced with equal slowness. It seems Roman isn't in any kind of hurry. His attention fully on the task of stretching Dean out.

"Did..." Roman trails off, and leans over to grab a condom. The task of sheathing his cock taking up far more of his attention than it should. He eases inside Dean, stilling when his cock is fully inside of Dean's ass. Roman starts moving at the same slow pace he had prepped Dean. His movements languid, his fingers stroking over Dean's face. "There's something wrong." It's not a question, and Dean rolls his eyes. He's not having a heart to heart with this man. This man _ruined_ his life. If it wasn't for Roman, Dean would only be losing Punk to the doctor, he wouldn't have betrayed him, wouldn't have lied to him, wouldn't have convinced Punk that he didn't love him.

"It's nothing." Dean rolls his hips trying to inspire Roman to move faster.

"Nothing? It doesn't look like nothing." Roman looks perturbed, and Dean sighs. He reaches up, and drags Roman down into a kiss.

"Punk left me this morning." It's as much as Dean's going to give Roman. It might only be a little, but it's a lot more than he'd wanted to give the man who'd hastened the destruction of the one relationship Dean's ever wanted to last. "Doggy?" Dean shoves as Roman's shoulders, moving to rest on alll-fours when Roman pulls out of him.

"He left you?" Roman drapes himself over Dean's back. "Does that meanI _finally_ get you?" Roman rubs his cock-head at Dean's asshole, and Dean thrusts back against it. The head doesn't slip inside, and Dean lets out an only half-faked moan of disappointment.

"It means we're fucking right now." Dean looks over his shoulder, trying to look coy.

"Yeah... I guess it does." Roman thrusts in firmly, and finally speeds up, one of his hands gropes around to take a hold of Dean's half-hard cock. "You're not into this?" Roman mutters into Dean's ear, and Dean rocks back into Roman's thrusts. "Thought you wanted to be fucked." He grunts, and Dean drops his head to rest his forehead against the pillow. His mind conjures up the memory of Punk's thin fingers around his cock. The memory of Punk's delicately firm touch sending blood rushing to firm-up Dean's length. "That's it." Roman presses nipping kisses to the back of Dean's neck, and starts fucking him in earnest. There's no more talking, only grunts, moans, and the slapping of skin on skin. Roman comes with a bellow that to Dean always sounds put on, and mildly ridiculous. He comes with his eyes closed, and a fading image of Punk from the last time they made love in his mind. Roman pulls out of Dean to flop onto his back, and chuckles softly, his eyes fixated on Dean's face.

"What?" Dean asks merely because it seems like a question he should ask. He doesn't much care why Roman's laughing and grinning like an idiot.

"You're single now, right?" Roman reaches out to Dean, and Dean slips from the bed.

"I'm gonna shower." He mutters, and Roman chuckles once more. Dean had known what Roman was going to say, and there's no answer Dean could give that wouldn't either be a lie, or something Roman wouldn't want to hear. By the time Dean finishes in the shower Roman's fallen asleep. Dean starts pulling on his clothes, and considers his options. If he stays, he can work in the club, he can cultivate a relationship of sorts with Roman, he can live with the spectres of Punk. If he stays he'll live with the knowledge that somewhere Punk's safe, Punk's happy, Punk's with someone who's not Dean.

He sneaks out of Roman's house in the early hours of the morning. He can't stay here. He can't stay in Chicago. This was his home with Punk, and now Punk is gone. He cut Punk free, and he gave Roman his goodbye fuck. There's nothing tying Dean to this life anymore. He's free from any obligations he had to being a scurrier. He's free to return to where he belongs. He's free to return to his contemplations. He's free to return to only having to worry about himself, a state he's not been in in years. He's free to return to being homeless. It's almost a relief really. The years with Punk were stressful. Wonderful though they were, having someone else relying on him was hard work for Dean. He's not the sort of man who's ever been dependable. Leaving him is the greatest service he can do for Punk. This way Punk is free. Dean's not a hero, he could never be, but he's delivered Punk into the arms of one, and that _has_ to be enough.

The walk to the bus station is long, and cold. On route, Dean resolves that he's going somewhere warmer. He's sick of the cold, and the wind of Chicago. He's going to head somewhere nicer. The cheapest ticket to somewhere relatively warm turns out to be Vegas, so Dean buys it, and wonders what it'll be like being homeless there. He can't imagine it'll be fun or safe, but it'll be so different to Chicago that he doesn't care. Not Chicago is the only remit he has. Chicago already is steeped in the strange haze of nostalgia. As he'd walked he'd passed so many little places that held so many memories. He walked past the spot where he first met Punk, and hadn't been able stop himself from checking to see if Punk's name was still scrawled there. It'd been a surprise to see that it was. Dean's own name had still be there, and around them both there'd been drawn a crude heart, a heart that Dean knows he'd not made. A foolish part of him had hoped it was Punk's handy work. He'd taken very little with him on this exodus. A small bag, filled with the lighter of his scurrier clothes, his cellphone, it's charger, and all the money from the hiding spot in the motel room. So he'd taken a picture of the little love-heart graffiti with his phone, and set it was the wallpaper for the tiny screen. He's no pictures of Punk, nothing but his memories to recall how beautiful Punk had been, so this simple piece of graffiti feels like the only physical thing Dean has of Punk, and he knows he'll treasure it.

He's been on the bus for maybe two hours when his cell chirps, and Dean glances down at it in surprise. The message is from a number that's been saved as _Punk_ , and it reads simply.

 _Be warm. Be safe. Be happy. - Punk_

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - _ **Moiself,**_ VKxXx92, Brokenspell77, **__**and Rebellecherry.**_

 _Next update will be 2015/11/22._

 **Comments, questions, critique? They all help keep me writing - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	15. 15

_Warnings: Mild Slash (Ambrose/Punk) (Cabana/Punk) (Reigns/Ambrose), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells.**_

* * *

Punk stumbles from the motel room feeling strange, like he's been emptied of all emotion, and there's nothing left in him to fill it up. He isn't entirely sure what to do now. Dean has cast him aside for reasons Punk doesn't fully understand. Dean's claim of not loving Punk anymore is a lie. Punk could see the truth in Dean's face as he'd watched Punk pack to leave. Every little item Punk had tossed into the bag over his shoulder had caused Dean more and more pain. By the time Punk had been ready to leave, Dean looked white as snow, and his eyes were dark and glassy. Watching Punk leave had caused him immense pain, but Dean hadn't done anything to stop Punk from going. So he has no choice but to leave.

He manages to make it down stairs, and he pauses in the lobby. He's no idea where to go. He can't go back to Dean, that's perfectly clear. Dean might love him, but he doesn't _want_ Punk. Punk can't blame him for that though. Dean said it himself, Punk is a whore, and even a cheat like Dean deserves better than a whore like Punk. The man behind the desk clears his throat loudly, and Punk is jolted from his thoughts by the unexpected noise.

"You looking to get a discount, babe?" He leers, and Punk shakes his head sharply. He leaves the motel, and starts walking, aimlessly putting one foot in front of the other, heading for nowhere in particular.

He'd not meant to, but he somehow managed to wind up at the park he and Dean used to sleep in. He wanders through it, heading to where they'd built their little shelter. It's not a surprise to see that someone else has already claimed it as their own. A grubby woman, and an unsurprisingly well cared for dog look at him with distrust.

"Whatcha doin' 'ere?" The woman snarls, and Punk shakes his head, forcing a non-threateningly blank look on to his face.

"I was just looking." He mutters, and the woman glares at him.

"There ain't nothin' 'ere for the likes o' you. Git out!" She makes a vague shooing gesture with her hand, and Punk backs away from her cautiously. He could take her in a fight, but he'd rather not fight a woman. He senses more than hears the men behind him. For a split second Punk considers going down without a fight. Physical pain would be far more preferable to the emotional pain he's been enduring, and not fighting back would spare him a lot of trouble, but he then remembers the cell phone in his pocket, the amount of money Scott must have spent on it, and the fact that Dean has that number. Before the break-up, before the mess of that conversation, before Dean had even woke up, Punk had entered the number into Dean's phone. Men, it turns out, was a generous estimation. The pair are maybe all of nineteen each, and lack any kind of skill. It doesn't take too long for Punk to deal with them, but they landed more than a few hits. One of his eyes feels like it's going to start swelling, his lip is definitely split, and he thinks his nose may have taken an unfortunate bump. During the course of the fight the woman had slinked off, taking her dog, and her meagre possessions. The two kids skulk off, and Punk is left alone with shack, and his pain.

It was undoubtedly stupid to slip into the rickety structure, but Punk couldn't resist, and as he lay staring up at the roof, he could feel the ghost of Dean's arms around him. He could also feel his limbs shaking slightly, and his head throbbing. He hopes the headache will pass into more manageable levels quickly. He doesn't want to be in the shack for too long. He shouldn't have come, but he did, and the longer he lies there, the more he remembers his life with Dean. The chapters of Punk's life are never ended by him. The chapters of Phil were finished, and lost, by the accident. The chapters of Punk alone on the streets were finished by Dean's persistence, and now the chapters of Dean and Punk's relationship have been finished by Dean as well. Punk is facing a blank page once more. A blank page waiting for a new chapter, and he has no idea what story it should tell.

"Punkers?" Scott opens the door quickly, and the happiness that had been on his face at first seeing Punk again rapidly fades away at seeing the mess he's in. "Come in... Go take a shower, and I'll patch you up once you're all clean." Punk steps inside just enough to shut the door behind him, but makes no move to come further into the apartment. It only takes Scott a few seconds to come close enough to Punk for Punk to be able to wrap his arms around him tightly, burying his face against Scott's neck. "Punkers... Your face..." Scott's hands move slowly over Punk's back. The touch is wonderfully soothing, and somehow making the ever-growing pain in Punk's head recede. "Was it? Did he..."

"No." Punk mutters, answering the half asked question. The cuts and bruises weren't Dean's work. If it were, Punk would be in at once more, and less pain. More because Dean was a far better fighter, and less because a physical beating is easier to take than an emotional one.

"Do you..." Scott takes a step away from Punk, and looks at him with concern.

"You gonna finish a sentence at all tonight, Colt?" Punk grins, and Scott looks at him incredulously for a moment, then laughs.

"If you wanna talk about it, I'll listen." He ushers Punk into the apartment, and up to the bathroom. "If you don't wanna talk, I'm not gonna pry... But..." Scott inhales sharply, and turns to look at Punk once more. "You've been crying." He doesn't reach out to Punk, instead he fixes Punk with a firm stare.

"Yeah." Punk nods, and he half-heartedly swipes at one of his cheeks. He can feel the tightness of the tear tracks on his face. "I was... It's been a rough day." Punk keeps walking up to the bathroom. He can hear Scott pottering around, collecting clothes that he sets on the toilet lid. "I got jumped." Punk says calmly as he examines his face in the mirror. He can see Scott's reflection, can see the tight press of his lips, the slightly manic worry in his eyes. "I'll let you look once I've showered..."

"The tears?" Scott asks softly, and Punk closes his eyes. The tears have two sources, the pain in his head, and the pain in his heart. Pain that Punk is pretty sure that Scott is capable of taking away, one more than the other, now at least, because the pain in Punk's heart was caused by being thrown away by Dean. No matter how much Punk has begun to fall for Scott, that love is nothing compared to the love Punk has for Dean.

"Dean... Dean and I have parted ways... And my head hurts." Punk answers the question with more honesty than he'd expected of himself.

" _Parted ways_?" Scott looks confused, and oddly hurt. "What?" Scott steps closer, close enough for Punk to feel his body heat behind him. "Is that... I won't pry, tell me when, _if_ , you're ready... And you know you're welcome to stay, Punkers." Punk meets the reflection of Scott's eyes, and he forces a slight smile to his lips. "As for your head... Well, I've been thinking about that." Scott smiles, and wanders over to the bathroom door. "If you want it, I've some painkillers that'll help it, and I can take a proper look if you like."

"I'll think about it." Punk turn to him with a weak smile, leaving what he's going to think about open ended.

The rest of the evening, Punk sits pressed against Scott's side, not talking about anything important. True to his word, Scott doesn't pry, instead he makes random comments on the TV shows they're watching, comments that have Punk laughing. He took the offered painkillers, and for first time in weeks, Punk's head isn't throbbing with low-level pain. It's strange being pain free, at least headache pain free. The ache in his heart is completely unaffected by the medicine, but Punk thinks that's a pain that only time, or Dean returning can cure. Eventually they retire to bed, but just before he goes, Punk sends a message to Dean, a simple message that Punk thinks will become like the message Scott used to send to Phil's number ever day until they met again.

 _Be warm. Be safe. Be happy. -sent_

He doesn't expect a response, and none comes, despite how often Punk checks the phone. He wakes up regularly through the night to check it, after a few hours Punk quits pretending to sleep by Scott and wanders downstairs. He ends up on the couch, staring up at the doodles on the ceiling, thinking over what's happened over the last few week. He's trying to pinpoint the moment everything fell apart, trying to map the collapse of a relationship he was sure he'd have for the rest of his life, and he keeps coming back to the moment he fell sick. As soon as he'd shown signs of sickness, Dean had withdrawn from him, almost as if Dean had been preparing to lose Punk to death. After they'd met Scott, it had seemed that Dean was preparing to lose Punk to the doctor. Punk sighs softly, and glances back down at the cell phone. He hopes Dean's okay. He hopes that he's not done something stupid, at least not something more stupid than making Punk leave him. Though Punk isn't sure that was a stupid as it feels. Apart there's nothing tying either of them to the streets of Chicago. Apart Punk can move on with the life he's slowly forging, he can take the job at Joey's deli, he can maybe see if he can afford a room somewhere nearby it, he can keep visiting Scott, keep learning more about who he was, and slowly become a real person again, and Dean can leave. Punk has no doubts that Dean will leave this city. He's known Dean for years, and he knows that the only reason Dean stayed so long was Punk. With Punk out of Dean's life, he'll have gone to Roman, given him a goodbye fuck, and hopefully hopped on a bus to somewhere warmer. Hopefully Dean will find a little job, a place to stay, some friends, a partner, someone who's a real person, someone who Dean doesn't have to protect, someone who can protect Dean. Punk hopes that Dean finds someone who loves him even half as much as Punk loves him, because even half as much is more than most people ever find.

"Hey..." Scott's voice is soft, pitched to wake Punk gently, as gently as the touch on Punk's shoulder. Punk sits up from where he was curled up sleeping on the couch, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. "What're you doing sleeping down here?" Scott cautiously takes a seat beside Punk, and looks at Punk with an expression as gentle as his tone.

"I needed to think... I needed..." Punk sighs, rubbing his eyes once more. "I needed to consider what you offered me." Punk rests his head against the back of the couch, and looks over at Scott out of the corner of his eye.

"Which offer?" Scott fidgets slightly, and Punk laughs. He's been thinking about all of the offers Scott made him, talking, a place to stay, the medication, and Punk has answers for all of them.

"After you left yesterday, Dean and I talked... I say talked, but we mostly argued, and fought... He told me that he was fucking Roman to keep me safe."

"I thought so." Scott mutters, and smothers a yawn with his hand. "So... I don't' wanna pry but..."

"He made me leave him. Told me he didn't love me-"

"Bullshit." Scott cuts in, and Punk laughs softly.

"I know, but he wanted me to leave, so he did." Punk smiles at the doctor, and lets the flicker of warmth in his stomach at the sight of Scott's sleep-rumpled hair flow through him. "I think he's gone." The pain in Punk's chest grows, the full realisation of that fact filling him with a leaden weight. "He's gone, and I'm... I've not really been without him for a long time." Scott fidgets beside him, and Punk reaches out, catching one of Scott's hands, and he tangles their fingers together. "I lost him, but I get you back, right? You're not gonna abandon me on a whim are you?" Scott laughs, and pulls his fingers away.

"I'm feeding you, pancakes and coffee?" He stands, and offers Punk a hand, hauling him up to his feet.

"You think I'm ready for working?" Punk asks as he starts on the coffee.

"The deli job?" Scott asks whilst he starts making the pancake batter.

"Yeah. I wanna start making a life for myself." Punk watches the coffee machine carefully, watching the black liquid trickle down into the waiting pot. "I wanna be a real member of society again... I wanna get my own place... Have my own money... I don't remember being here, and I'm never going to remember being the Phil I was, but I wanna try at being the Phil I am." Punk glances over at Scott, and is caught by the look in the doctor's eyes. "What?"

"Hmm? Nothing." Scott grins at him, and Punk rolls his eyes. "Your bank account... Did you find any details for it?"

"I've not looked. I'm gonna head down to the deli later, then I'll start on hunting that down. You think there was any money in it? If there is I can use it as a deposit on a place of my own." Punk knows that this is little more than a distraction from dealing with the mess Dean's left in his heart, from the mess of learning he was a whore whilst in college, from the potential mess that is his feelings for Scott, but it's a distraction he's more than welcoming of, it's a distraction that could yield results, positive results.

It takes a month in total, from going to Joey and formally accepting the job, where he learned that Joey also owns the the little apartment above the deli, which Punk asked if he could rent, to dealing with the bank, to finally starting working. A month where every night Punk sends that same little text message. _Be warm. Be safe. Be happy._ No reply ever comes, but Punk isn't expecting a reply, he's expecting nothing from Dean, not any more. There's a part of Punk that worries that by sending that message, he's keeping Dean trapped in the past, but he can't bring himself to not send it. He needs Dean to know that he still wants Dean to be warm, to be safe, and most importantly happy.

"So... How was the first day as a working man, Punkers?" Scott's standing on the other side of Punk's front door, a box of pizza in one hand, and bag with soda in the other. Punk ushers him in, and gestures to the couch. The apartment is small, one room and a tiny bathroom, but the rent is cheap, and it's more than enough for Punk. His first night in his first home, after his first day in his first job. It'd been hard trying to remember everything, but Punk had found his rhythm surprisingly quickly, and it turns out that he makes a pretty mean sandwich. He's proud of himself, unreasonably proud of himself. For the first time in his life he's independent, and it feels good.

"Not bad, Colt." He takes a seat beside Scott, and flips open the pizza box. "The TV's pretty shit, and I've only got basic." He gestures to the old TV set opposite them.

"Meh, tell me about the first day." Scott pours out two paper cups of soda, and Punk starts talking. Scott stays for a few hours, eventually telling Punk about his day, and promising to bring the last of the paper work from him basement to Punk's place. The idea of having a place of his own still confounds Punk, and he almost wants to tell Dean about it. He wants to share the _huge_ leaps his life has made over the last month, but Punk thinks that would defeat the purpose of Dean forcing him to leave. Dean made him leave to make Punk do this. Granted Dean had assumed that Punk would fall into Scott's arms, and once more be protected by someone, but that night on Scott's couch Punk had come to a realisation. Ever since his accident, ever since he lost who he was he's been hiding. He first hid behind his memory lose, he hid himself away from his past by not knowing it, and using that as a reason to keep everything, and every one away. Then he hid behind Dean, he was consumed by Dean's love, and in turn consumed Dean with his love. Love he still has, but it's not a love that can be realised, Dean doesn't want it, or doesn't think he deserves it, which Punk is pretty sure is closer to the truth. Dean's self-loathing goes deep, far deeper than you would think. Dean doesn't think he's worthy of anything, and Punk realised that night on Scott's couch that he'll never be able to convince Dean otherwise. It'll take a special person to make Dean realise he's worthy of love, it'll take Dean, but Dean isn't given to that kind of self-realisation. He can think on the human condition, on other people's worth, for hours, but he refuses to even entertain the idea that he has some value. Punk hopes Dean will realise it, he hopes that Dean will reply to one of his texts, he hopes, but he's certain it won't happen.

The first time Punk settles into his own bed, he's almost afraid of how empty and cold it feels. The sheets are new, the comforter, the blankets, even the mattress are new. There's not a scent clinging to the fabric, and Punk isn't sure he likes that. This is the first time in years he's been without someone beside him. He'd purposefully bought a small bed, one because it was cheaper, and two because he wanted to be alone in it. He wants to be independent. He wants to be a real person. He wants to learn who he is. He doesn't want to be defined by what he's lost, be it the memories of Phil, _or_ Dean. Everyone who knew them as a couple had asked about it, and Punk hadn't really be able to offer too many answers. He thinks he understands, but he can't say for sure, and so he just told them that Dean left him. It seemed easier to not give the full background, to skip the club and Roman, and Punk's _friendship_ with Scott. It is a friendship, at least Punk hopes it is. Things are moving easily into place with Scott, it's like slipping on an old sweater, warm and familiar. They've not kissed, not since Punk's impulsive act in the motel what feels like a lifetime ago. Scott, thankfully, has said nothing about Punk's declaration of love then too. It seems Scott is more in tune with Punk, than Punk himself most of the time, but Punk thinks he's learning his own tune, and he's fairly confident that he knows Scott almost as well as Scott knows him. If their friendship will become something else, Punk doesn't know. In that moment it doesn't matter. What matters is this is Punk first night in his own home. His first night after his first day of work. His first night in his own bed. His first night, his first sentence on the blank page of his new chapter.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - alicia _ **,**_**_ **Rebellecherry,** _ **grleviathan,**_ _ **Brokenspell77,**_ _ **and VKxXx92.**_

 _So, I think one chapter left, and I'd like to finish this up before December, so next update will be 2015/11/29._

 **Comments, questions, critique? They all help keep me writing - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!**


	16. 16

_Warnings: Mild Slash (Ambrose/Punk) (Ambrose/Callihan) (Cabana/Punk) (Reigns/Ambrose), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from **Xmas Carols chapter 9 -** **Carol of the Bells.**_

* * *

Time is a strange concept. The arbitrary measurement of days passing, weeks becoming months, months bleeding into years. Text messages are how Dean measures time. One message is one day longer away from Punk. One message is one day longer from where Dean is certain he should be, but is no longer. He's not sure if he's grateful, or resentful of Punk's measuring Dean's time for him. Each message is a little stab, where that stab is penetrating Dean has no idea. He broke his own heart the day he forced Punk from his life, so he thinks it might be his soul, but that raises questions Dean doesn't much want to think about. Souls, and their potential for being eternal isn't something Dean wants to dwell on for too long.

"Why the fuck are we here?" The voice beside him isn't jarring, not anymore at least. He'd met Sami almost by accident. Vegas had proved to be warmer, and whilst Dean isn't too much better off, he's at least off the streets. He'd arrived in Vegas, and somehow managed to find himself a job relatively quickly. The little book store owner had taken pity on him, and given Dean a position behind the counter. A position Dean has held for years now, a position that had been upgraded to manager about a year ago. As manager, Dean had hired Sami, a kid who looked like he'd been dragged backwards through a hedge, whilst high on speed. A kid Dean had met by chance at a corner store about a year before giving him a job. A kid who's words blurred into a solid wall of jabbering noise. A kid who had latched onto Dean, and proven to be impossible to shake off. Dean hadn't invited Sami on this trip, rather he'd invited himself, and Dean has learned that it's far easier to let him do as he pleases. Trying to dissuade Sami results in little more than a sore throat for Dean, so when he'd booked his flight, he'd reserved two seats rather than one.

"I know why I'm here." Dean mutters, and Sami laughs at him.

"I'll never get why you're so obsessed with that guy." Dean doesn't answer, doesn't look over, instead he closes his eyes. He's never told anyone about Punk, about his past. No one but the book store owner knows Dean's real name. As far as everyone else is concerned, he's Jon Moxley, born in Cincinnati, barely scrapped through high school, bummed around, and wound up in Las Vegas. "Sure his books are pretty good, and he's _alright_ looking, but _really_? Flying half-way cross the country just to go see a book launch? It's too much, man." Sami laughs, and Dean flags over the flight attendant to ask for a coffee. "Your obsession, Jon... It's a bit _weird_."

"It's not an obsession... I just..." Dean doesn't know how to answer, not without explaining everything he wants kept to himself. Thankfully his coffee arrives, and he's spared trying to answer a question he can't.

The room is surprisingly big, and equally surprising, mostly full. Dean takes a seat near the back. He wants to be far enough from the stage to see, but not be seen. Sami sits beside him with an annoyed huff, and Dean holds back the urge to tell him to leave, but it seems Sami is a mind-reader. He quickly gets up, and wanders off, muttering about coffee.

"You're press?" The woman sitting beside Dean is small, and mousy. There's a notebook in her lap, and a smile on her lips as she talks to him. Dean shakes his head in response to her question. He's not press, and he can't help but wonder how many people in the room are. "Oh? Retailer?"

"Yeah..." Dean mutters, and she nods.

"Me too... I... I really only came to look at him." She chuckles, a slight blush on her face. "I never go to these book launches, but I wanted to see if I could wrangle the chance to talk to his agent, maybe get him to do an in-store signing." She grins over at Dean, clearly expecting a response.

"Unless your store is in Chicago, I'd not be hopefully." He mutters, and the woman laughs softly.

"L.A., but he's been out my way a few times... Did you hear the podcast he did with Maron? He's a sweet thing." She chuckles.

"Maron or-"

"Funny." She cuts in, and gestures to the stage. Punk's just visible to the side and rear of it. "Sweet, and cute... Shame he's gay." Dean can't speak, his throat feels entirely too dry. The barely visible figure of Punk leans further out of view, clearly into a kiss, or an embrace. "Still, I'd be gay for a doctor too."

"Yeah... I'm sure." Dean tries to get a better look, but distance, and the staging make it difficult. Punk's changed over the years. The last time Dean had seen him, his hair was buzzed short, the scruff on his face was too. He'd been thin, almost gaunt, his eyes haunted, and ringed heavily with the signs of not sleeping enough. Now he's a different man. The press-shots are probably photo-shopped somewhat, but the bags under Punk's eyes have receded, his skin has a healthy glow that Dean had never seen, and he looks happy, far happier than he ever had on the streets.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats. We'll be starting in a minute." Someone calls over a mic, and Sami flops into the chair on the other side of Dean.

"Hey man, got you a coffee. Try to not spill it on your pants." Sami nudges Dean lightly, and Dean takes the cup, watching as Punk makes his way onto the stage. He looks good. His hair neatly slicked back, his beard trimmed, his clothes cut to show the lean lines of his body. His eyes nervously scan over the crowd, the few faces he recognises amongst the crowd, get warm smiles of acknowledgement. Dean knows the exact moment Punk spots him, and a wave of panic flows over him. Punk stares for a few seconds, and then starts talking about his book as though nothing had happened.

It had never surprised Dean that Punk had taken to writing. It'd seemed like something Punk would be good at. What had been surprising was how well his books were received. The intelligentsias lapped up Punk's words, his vitriol, his plots, his intrigues, and read all manner of things into them. They'd also lapped up the man himself. The first time Dean had seen Punk on the cover of some magazine, he'd been frozen in place. It'd been two years since he'd let Chicago, and a full year before he met Sami. Over those two years alone in Vegas, Dean had lived the life of a hermit. He'd gone out to go to work, or to buy food. He'd avoided socialising. He'd avoided people. He'd avoided anything that could diminish his memories of Punk's warm body in his arms, and his bed. He didn't want anyone but Punk, and didn't want too risk being tempted by another person. That magazine had been the first picture of Punk Dean had ever seen, and the image didn't do the reality any justice. He'd bought himself a copy, and he'd read the sparse interview, had read about Punk's life over the two years Dean had then been gone from it. Over the years that followed, Dean had kept up with Punk's life through interviews, magazines, radio shows, TV appearances, podcasts, anything that let Dean have a little of him. He'd observed Punk's life from a distance, had vicariously learned about the progression of his relationship with the doctor, and the slow journey Punk had made to being a real person. In the last interview, Dean had heard, Punk sounded happy, ridiculously happy, if a little nervous.

 _Maron: So the new book..._

 _Punk: Yeah?_

 _Maron: It's kind of a departure for you... A bit more biographical?_

 _Punk: A bit,yeah..._

 _(laughter from off mic is heard.)_

 _Maron: The other half seems to think that's funny._

 _Punk: The other half is an asshole, who's in danger of getting kicked out of the garage._

 _Off-mic: It's not your garage, Punkers!_

 _Maron: He makes a point. So-_

 _Punk: It's very biographical, autobiographical even. I mean names are changed to protect the guilty, but it's basically the story of my life._

 _Maron: On the streets?_

 _Punk: On the streets. It's... I mean, it's as accurate as I could make it, and in publishing it, I think... I'm... It's like being..._

 _Maron: Exposed?_

 _Punk: Yeah! It's like everything I am is out there... I've talked about what I remember before, but this is fiction only in that I'm not a woman... This is basically my life after my accident, and having that out there, that's scary, but I needed to do it. I've been bending Colt's ear-_

 _Maron: The other half for those unaware._

 _Punk: The other half sat over there looking like a hog in heaven. He's a big fan._

 _Maron: Of garages?_

 _Off-mic: It is a good garage!_

 _Punk: Idiot, you're lucky I love you. Of podcasts in general, but you're his favourite... I swear when the call came to my agent, Colt was more excited than I was._

 _Maron: And you were pretty excited to see the garage too, of course._

 _Punk: Of course, it is a very good garage! But seriously it was all Colt could talk about. He even booked time off for this... Anyway! I'd been saying that I should write this book for a long time, but every time I tried it was like I couldn't make it sound right... Like I was still stuck in it somehow, but I needed to get this out so I wrote it, but then I couldn't make myself happy enough with it to publish it... I was still stuck._

 _Maron: So how did you get unstuck?_

 _Punk: Huh? Oh! I asked Colt to marry me._

 _Off-mic: I said yes!_

 _Maron: Married, huh? Congrats... So getting married made up for the past?_

 _Punk: Getting married... Realising I wanted to get married made it easy to let the past be. It's healed, as healed as it'll ever get, and I need to move on with my life._

 _Maron: And moving on is publishing the book?_

 _Punk: Moving on is publishing the book, and getting married, and..._

 _Maron: Starting a family?_

 _Punk: Ha! No... Though we've been talking about getting a pet._

 _Maron: I recommend a cat._

The last text message Dean received was about three weeks before that interview aired. Dean supposes that the last message was sent on the day Punk asked his doctor to marry him. Punk has let Dean go, and Dean is here, back in Chicago, to try to do the same.

The little press conference goes quickly, and Dean stands to leave, Sami standing beside him, chattering excitedly about nothing Dean cares to hear.

"Can you come with me, sir?" A voice calls out to Dean, it's owner a huge man in a suit. He's obviously security, and Dean mostly wants to refuse, but there's a chance he might get to talk to Punk if he complies. They head back stage, and pause outside of a door.

"If I speak to him, won't you be pissed?" Punk's voice carries through the thin door Dean's standing on the other side of, he sounds stressed, and close to tears.

"Punkers... You do what you have to." The doctor's voice is pitched lower, calm and soft.

"Why's he here? Jesus... _Fuck_! Why is he here now?" Punk's frustration is palpable, and Dean glances up at the security guard, and then over at Sami who's being kept away by a second guard.

"I don't know... I do know how he feels though." The doctor sighs, and Dean feels a stab of something ugly in his gut. "I let you go too."

"Yeah, but-"

"Punkers, we both did what we thought was best for you. Let him talk to you. Let him explain." The doctor's voice is closer to the door, and Dean considers bolting. He doesn't want to talk to the doctor. He's certain that the five years it's been since he saw the man last, won't have lessened the resentment Dean feels for him.

"What if I..." Punk sounds unsure, and the doctor laughs softly.

"I love you. I want what's best for you, and if time has taught me anything, it's that only _you_ really know what's best for you." There's a long moment of silence. A moment that Dean suspects is filled with Punk kissing his doctor.

"Wait for me?" Punk asks the doctor as he leaves the room. The doctor nods tightly, and looks at Dean. There's something impossibly sad in his eyes.

"I never thanked you for keeping him safe, did I?" He asks softly.

"I didn't... I couldn't." Dean mumbles his response, and the doctor quirks an awkward smile. "I should..." Dean gestures to the door, and the doctor nods once more, then wanders up to where a small gaggle has formed around Sami.

Dean pushes open the door, and lets it close behind him. Punk's pacing the small room, the nice shirt and pants, he'd been wearing, traded for a more comfortable looking t-shirt and jeans. He's so close it would only take a few steps for Dean to have him in his arms again. The depth of Dean's desire to hold Punk, to touch him, hasn't decreased in the five years they've been apart. He feels as keenly attracted to Punk in that moment as he ever had.

"Why are you here?" Punk sounds sharp and brittle, like his voice is ice, but hearing his voice in person once more has Dean filling with warmth in spite of the ice of the tone.

"I... I wanted to..." Dean trails off, and Punk scowls, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Five years, Dean. You don't get to do this to me now, not after five years. You don't get to just waltz back into my life like nothing happened." He snarls, and Dean takes a single step closer. He wants to touch him, wants to reassure himself that Punk is there, that the man opposite him is real, but the look on Punk's face makes it clear that wouldn't be welcome.

"You didn't send me a message." Dean offers lamely, and Punk barks a laugh.

"You could have fucking replied any of the others I did send! Five years, Dean! Five fucking years!" Punk stops in his pacing, and rounds on Dean, staring at him. "You have no idea what I've been through, no idea how many times I've wanted to talk to you, to know you're okay, and now you just fucking turn up!"

"I let you go..." Dean mumbles, staring down at the carpet. He can't look at Punk. It hurts far too much to see the pain he's caused so plainly on Punk's face.

"You threw me away." Punk corrects calmly, and Dean winces at his words.

"I had to. I couldn't keep you safe. I hurt you-"

"You're still fucking hurting me!" Punk snarls, and Dean looks up at him. "I'm happy, Dean. It's taken me a long time, but I'm happy, and you show up here, with your latest fuck in tow-"

"I'm not fucking Sami." Dean interrupts, and Punk laughs again.

"I don't care, Dean." He sounds tired as he flops into a chair, a strangely sad smile on his face. "I don't care who you've fucked, or haven't fucked."

"No one... Not since..." Dean trails off, and Punk waves his hand at the other chair.

"Since Roman?" Punk's smile doesn't change, and Dean sits awkwardly. "I know you." Punk rubs his hand over his hair, and sighs softly. "You thought I'd fall straight into Colt's bed, didn't you?" Dean nods awkwardly, and Punk shakes his head. "I thought about it, but I couldn't. Phil was always a whore. You remember the last time we saw each other?" Dean nods, and Punk fidgets uncomfortably. "I don't know why I'm telling you any of this." He grabs a bottle of water from the table beside him, and takes a long drink.

"Because I need to know." Dean says softly. "I did fuck Roman, then... Then, I went to Vegas."

"Vegas?" Punk sounds surprised, and Dean nods slightly.

"I met Sami two years ago... We work together. I'm the manager of a book store." Punk laughs at that, a soft kind laugh, a laugh that Dean misses so much. "I know... It's not what I was expecting, but it's okay... I think he's in love, or lust, or something with me." Dean forces himself to meet Punk's eyes. "I love you... I _still_ love you." Punk smiles wryly, and Dean swallows thickly. "It doesn't matter does it?" He mutters. Punk pulls his phone from his pocket, and stands to come over to Dean.

"This was taken on my wedding day." The picture Punk shows Dean is of Punk and the doctor, both smiling, both wearing suits, both clearly in love. "It took me a good two years to convince him I was actually in love with him, and not just rebounding, or vaguely remembering my past. It took me nearly five years to get over you, Dean. It took me asking Colt to marry me to realise that I'm over you... You don't get to show up now, and try to ruin what I've made for myself."

"Punk?" Dean looks up from the phone screen. His throat feels scratchy, his eyes are too hot. Punk looked so happy in the picture, so unbelievably happy to be pressed against his doctor's side.

"I've moved on... And I know I've been holding you back... I _know_ those messages were keeping you in the past, and I'm sorry-"

"Don't be." Dean reaches out, and cups Punk's cheek. "Don't be sorry for them, _never_ be sorry for those messages. I needed them. I was too scared to reply, but they let me know you were okay, and that was all I needed to keep going." Dean doesn't add that knowing Punk's okay is still all he needs to keep going, but he thinks it's implied.

" _Dean_." Punk takes a step away, and sighs, his eyes downcast. "I need you to let me go." He mutters, and Dean raises to his feet. "I need you to realise that you're worth more than this..." Punk's eyebrows draw in, his expression slightly strained. "I loved you. Maybe I love you still, but it's not the way I did..." He starts pacing once more. "You forced me out, and I realised I had to make a life for myself. I had to accept that I'd never remember who I was, and I had to find who I am." Dean reaches out to Punk, catching his hand lightly. Punk doesn't resist when Dean draws him into a hug.

"I've missed you so much." Dean murmurs. Punk smells different. He feels different. He _is_ different. In that moment, the little part of Dean that had hoped that this visit would result in Punk coming back to him dies. This isn't Dean's Punk, this is Punk's own Punk. He is a _real_ person, and Dean isn't a part of his life.

"Dean... Let me go." Punk says softly, and Dean clings tighter. If he lets go then this is it. If he lets go of Punk now, he's letting go of everything they had. If he lets go, then he's resigning his past to the past, and accepting that his future won't have Punk in it. The prospect is terrifying.

"I can't." Dean admits quietly, and Punk sighs softly, his arms wrap around Dean just as tightly.

"You have to." His voice is soft, so soft Dean could almost pretend he didn't hear it, but the room is quiet, and there's no pretending. "Tell me about Vegas."

"There's nothing much to tell." Dean closes his eyes, and tries to memorise the feeling of Punk in his arms.

"There's five years of nothing to tell me, Dean." Punk chuckles.

"I guess... I've done nothing, baby." Dean whispers, ignoring Punk's mutter of _don't call me baby_ in favour of talking. "I was working, avoiding people, avoiding life, pretending that I could be happy without you, but I can't. I can't be happy without you, but you're happy without me. I've been following your career, and I'm so proud of you." Dean presses a barely there kiss to the side of Punk's head.

"Don't." Punk sounds slightly annoyed, and Dean squeezes him tightly once more. Punk isn't his to hold, or kiss anymore, but Dean couldn't resist that one little gesture of affection.

"You're happy with him, aren't you?" Dean closes his eyes against what he knows he'll hear.

"I am." There's a stark honesty in Punk's voice, a stark, brutal honesty that has Dean wincing.

"If you wanted to come with me, he'd let you go wouldn't he?" Dean knows it's a stupid question, and Punk's little nod merely confirms it. "You won't leave him though? You love him, he loves you, and you're happy."

"Yes." Punk answers simply, and Dean lets him go. It hurts in an unexpectedly brutal way. "Thank you." Dean winces at Punk's words. He doesn't want to be thanked for letting him go, he wants Punk to demand Dean hold him once more. Five years is a long time, but in all of that time Dean has never moved on. In five years he's stared at a new text message saying the same thing every day. He's read it, and realised that he'll never be able to be all three of things Punk wants for him. In Vegas Dean is warm, he's safe, but without Punk he's not happy.

"I can't." Dean whispers, and crumples into a chair. "I can't let you go..."

"You already did." Punk crouches in front of him. "You need to move on, Dean... This... You're worth more than this."

"No-"

"Yes. You saved my life. I can't ever repay you for that, but I can try." Punk takes Dean's hands, and squeezes them lightly. "What can I do? Money? A place to stay? Anywhere, anything, name it."

"I..." Dean meets his eyes, and can't find the words. The look on Punk's face is earnest, it's kind and soft, but it's not love. He's truly moved on, truly left Dean behind. He'd hoped Punk would, but seeing it hurts. He'd wanted this for Punk, but in the bottom of Dean's heart he'd wanted to win Punk back. That's why he came here. That's why he got on a plane and came back to Chicago. He wanted Punk back. He wanted to meet Punk's eyes over a crowded room, and for the words of Punk's podcast interview to be forgotten. He wanted Punk to be demanding to be interviewed again, he wanted Punk to declare that he was in love with Dean, had _always_ been in love with Dean.

"Dean?" Punk prompts, and Dean shakes his head miserably.

"There's nothing you can do, Punk. I wanted you to be happy, and you're happy... I never thought you would be without me though." Dean laughs mirthlessly. "If I'm honest, I wanted you to follow me. I wanted you to realise you needed me as much as I need you, and come running after me. I wanted us to be together, but you stayed here. If I'd stayed... If I'd not gone to Vegas, what do you think would have happened?"

"I don't know." Punk mutters as he looks away, his lips pressed tightly together. "I..." He takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. "If you had stayed, I would have come back to you, but I would have kept visiting Colt. I would have still taken the job at the deli. I would have probably pushed for us to live in the apartment above it. I would have _still_ visited Colt. You would have either stayed working at that club, or found some other job, and I would still have visited Colt. Our relationship would be fractured, and I'd have grown resentful, and slowly start to hate you."

"And visit Colt." Dean finishes for him, and Punk smiles slightly.

"There's no such thing as _true love_." Punk grins, and Dean nods. He remembers saying that to Punk once. They'd been watching some couple getting engaged in some street. Dean had been dismissive of them, and Punk had been intrigued by it.

"There's the love that fits your narrative." Dean adds, and Punk nods slowly.

"We fit each other's narrative for a while, but my story's changed. I'm on a new chapter, and you've not even started yet, Dean." Punk stands, and regards Dean thoughtfully. "Why are you so afraid?"

"I'm not." Dean snaps, and Punk laughs at him.

"You're terrified, Dean." He takes a seat opposite Dean, and rests his chin in his hand. "You've stayed in the past... You've lived in a fantasy world where you're the eponymous hero. You've been waiting for something to happen, without ever doing anything to _make_ it happen."

"I-"

"You wanted me to go to you, but you didn't reply to me. I contacted you _every day_ for five years, and never once did you answer. I had no idea where you were, if you were dead... I knew _nothing_ , and you expected me to look for you? Bullshit, Dean." Punk's smiling easily, and Dean's thrown. He doesn't know the man opposite him. He's not Punk the homeless half-person, this man is Punk the author, not just of novels, but his own life. This Punk is confident in a way the Punk Dean knew could never be.

"I don't... I... Punk, I couldn't." Dean manages to force out, and Punk smiles at him.

"Why? What were you scared of?" He stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankle.

"I cheated on you... If I didn't say anything, then I couldn't have been wrong... I was scared of losing you for good." Dean stares at the man opposite him. "I did anyway." He laughs, and Punk nods once.

"You're a good man... A white whale in a world of scurriers..." Punk smiles at him. "Can I dedicate my next book to Colt? I think even he's getting pretty sick of them all being dedicated to you." Dean glances away, considering Punk's words. The dedication on every book he's written has read _Be warm. Be safe. Be happy._ A dedication to Dean, and one that Dean is reluctant to give up, so he avoids it.

"I... If I'd come back sooner... Would you have come back to me?" Dean can't help but ask what is a stupid, and redundant question. Punk shakes his head once.

"No. I don't think I would have. I think... I think I learned to not need you in my life pretty quickly... There wasn't a place for you _in_ my life, but I wanted there to be, so I kept sending those messages. I _think_ I was over you for a lot longer than I assumed. I'm sorry, Dean. I love you, I really do, but I don't love you at all." Punk smiles sadly, and Dean nods.

"I'll leave." He stands, and Punk bounces to his feet.

"Not like this... I need you to understand that... What I'm trying to say is... Fuck... This is much harder than I wanted it to be... I've thought about what I'd say to you a thousand times, and all I've done is the exact opposite of what I wanted to." Punk looks annoyed with himself, and Dean touches his shoulder lightly.

"I've heard what I needed to." The attempt at reassurance falls flat. Punk's lips are pressed tightly together, his eyes narrowed. He knows what Dean is thinking. He knows that Dean is planning on leaving, and not returning, leaving, and not doing anything this new Punk would deem sensible.

"You've concluded that you're worthless, that you're unlovable, and you're going to stop even pretending." Punk's expression is shrewdly sharp, and Dean laughs softly. Punk can read him so much better than Dean ever thought he could. "The only person who can make you realise you're worth so much more is yourself, and the one person who will never realise it, is you." Punk sighs, his hand resting on top of Dean's as it stills sits on Punk's shoulder. "The kid... _Sami?_ He loves you... You can see it in his eyes. Give him a chance, hmm?"

"Punk, I can't... I came here to get closure, and I have it." Dean slips his hand from under Punk's. "I'm done."

"Dean." Punk's voice is flat, and commanding. "I want you to promise me something."

"What, Punk?" Dean meets Punk's eyes reluctantly. He wants to leave, and drink himself into a stupor. He wants to return to the streets of somewhere, not Chicago, not Vegas, somewhere else, somewhere unknown.

"I want you to promise to let me do a book signing at your store." Punk's face is blank, his eyes calm and serious. "I want you to take Sami to Sammo's restaurant. I want you to text me. I want you to come to my birthday party. I want you to come to Colt's birthday party. I want you to resent him at first, but come to realise that he's perfect for me, because he's chilled enough to deal with my temper. I want you to grow to love him as your friend, and to love me as your friend. I want you to stop trying to save me. I want you... I _need_ you to save yourself. I love you, and I want you to be alive to be loved by me." Dean stares at Punk, his voice robbed from him until there's a knock on the door.

"You alright? You want me to break the door down?" It sounds like Sami has slipped past Punk's security, Dean turns to look at the door, feeling far more amused than he should.

"You're smiling." Punk's voice is softly teasing, and Dean turns back to him.

"Yeah..." Dean takes a deep breath, and lets his smile grow. "So... Wanna go on a double date? I've got a husband to start getting to know, a friend to start making, and an idiot to take to dinner." Punk grins at Dean's question.

"You sure?" Punk looks relieved, and Dean nods once.

"No, not in the least, but I'll try... I wanna... Is once a week enough for the text updates?" Dean asks softly, he hopes it will be, because he's not sure he's ready to start measuring time for himself in smaller increments. He's lost Punk. He lost Punk five years ago, but time is a strange thing. The arbitrary passing lives, so small in the grand scheme of things, but so huge those experiencing. One week at a time. One week closer to letting Punk go. One week closer to letting Punk be his friend. One week closer to being the _real_ person Dean is.

"Once a week is perfect."

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to - _ ** _ **moiself**_**_ **,** alicia**_ _ **,**_ _ **VKxXx92,**_ _ **and Brokenspell77.**_

 _So, that's us all done here. Thank you for the reviews, faves, and follows._

 **Comments, questions, critique? They all help keep me writing - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!**

This year I'm planning another Xmas Carols festive fic-fest. So, if you have a song and pairing you'd like me to try, please send me a PM.


End file.
